


You're a Little Bit Damaged- I'm a Sucker for That

by metallicgoldpretties



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Dicks, Drunkenness, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medication, Minor Character Death, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Slow Build, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metallicgoldpretties/pseuds/metallicgoldpretties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“…Hello?” Scott asks groggily. “Stiles? It’s two-thirty in the morning. This better be good.”</p>
<p>Good? Stiles did not know how to answer that. He looked down at the holes in his jeans, fingering the outlines and pulling on the frayed edges. Blood stained his hands and was now spread onto his jeans, leaving two red handprints. Great. He needed to buy new jeans. This won’t do. Stiles was never known for having too many clothes. In fact, these were his only pair of jeans, but that didn’t mean he did not take pride in the little amount of clothes he did have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered

“…Hello?” Scott asks groggily. “Stiles? It’s two-thirty in the morning. This better be good.”

Good? Stiles did not know how to answer that. He looked down at the holes in his jeans, fingering the outlines and pulling on the frayed edges. Blood stained his hands and was now spread onto his jeans, leaving two red handprints. Great. He needed to buy new jeans. This won’t do. Stiles was never known for having too many clothes. In fact, these were his only pair of jeans, but that didn’t mean he did not take pride in the little amount of clothes he _did_ have.

“I need new jeans,” Stiles says urgently. Scott is silent on the other line for a few moments.

“…What?”

“Scott?” Stiles whispers. Wait. When did he call Scott? A thumping noise from downstairs reminds him. The police are still here. He could hear their calm, professional voices addressing the coroner.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s voice sounds alert now.

Stiles’ eyes move toward his bedroom window as he blinks up into the night sky. The moonlight pours down brightly onto him as if he were under a spotlight. He kind of was, too—under a spotlight. Stiles had never been afraid of the spotlight. Tonight was different, however. Tonight marked the worst night of his life.

“Um,” Stiles pauses to bite his lip. “I think—“

A gentle knock on the door interrupts him. Stiles drops his cell phone. It clanks onto the wood floor beside him. He shakily picks it up and presses the phone tightly to his ear.

“I have to go, Scott.” He attempts to stuff the phone in his pocket. It takes him a minute but he manages.

“Stiles?” His bedroom door creaks open. A tall, Black woman walks through the doorway and slowly approaches him. Her face is sad but she still provides a warm presence. Stiles recognizes her face but he can’t remember her name. What is her fucking name? Lorie? Laura? She kneels down in front of him, places a hand onto his shoulder, and grips it tight. Stiles avoids eye contact. He can’t. He won’t. He doesn’t want it to be real. Doesn’t want to hear it. He’s dreaming, right? Yeah.

“Stiles. Honey…we need to get you out of the house. Let me take you to the McCall’s for the night.” She says, looking at him with uncertainty.

“No.” Stiles moved away from her touch, curling his arms around his knees.

He can’t leave. What kind of person just leaves? And leaving…does that mean he will no longer live in this house? He looks around his bedroom at the walls and ceiling. This space that was once so familiar was now foreign. What the fuck? What the fuck is happening? This isn’t his life. Please say this isn’t his life.

Before he realizes it, the woman is taking him down the stairs with her arm clutching his. Stiles’ heart starts pounding in his chest. It’s beating so fast and he thinks he’s going to explode. Maybe pass out. He brings his free arm up onto his chest and places his hand over his heart. Maybe this is how a werewolve’s heart feels like. He’d have to feel Scott’s soon and see. Or anyone else’s in the “pack.” Actually, Stiles is surprised he had never paid attention to the speed of werewolve’s heartbeats seeing that he was often squished between bodies during pack meetings.

“Stiles, keep your eyes on—“

It’s too late. He saw it. The body. Was it just a body? Stiles was never much for religion but a part of him wanted to believe that the man was still in there. Maybe his soul? No, if he believed in God that would mean his soul was now in Heaven, right? Hell if he knew.

Oh God. Oh fucking God.

He’s paralyzed. The lady (Lisa?) tries to move him toward the front door but he pushes back against her. He needs to see. He needs to fucking see. The room is spinning in circles and he can’t seem to stop the movement. He throws his arms out trying to find something to use as leverage. It’s hopeless. And then he can hear familiar voices yelling from outside, arguing.

The front door bursts open and Scott comes flying in. His face is pale and horrific, like he had seen a ghost. Melissa McCall comes in after him, gasping for air. Her hair is sticking all over the place. She’s still in her nightgown.

Stiles looks at them. He wants them here and he doesn’t want them here. It’s all so confusing. Tears start to form in his eyes but they have yet to fall. Scott walks up cautiously, unsure if he is welcomed. Stiles then sinks to the floor, looking up at his friend and shrugs with smile on his face. Scott takes this as approval and follows him onto the floor, wrapping his arms around him. Burrowing his face into Scott’s chest, Stiles listens to the quick rhythm of the boy’s heartbeat. The fabric of Scott’s nightshirt feels good against his cheek. It’s comforting.

“It’s fast just like mine,” Stiles whispers.

Scott rubs his hand down Stiles’ back. “What’s fast?”

“Your heart. It’s fast.”

He feels another set of hands on him providing more comfort. Melissa’s? She was so nice. Stiles loves her.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Scott still holding him tight and Melissa humming quietly. Stiles lifts his head and looks up at them. He starts to shake. It’s real. It’s all real.

“He’s gone. He’s fucking gone,” Stiles chokes out. The tears start to spill down his cheeks.

The shaking begins. He places his hands up to his head and tightens his grip, trying to cause himself physical pain in hope that it will relieve the mess that was currently going on in his head. It’s not working.

“Stiles! Breathe with me!” Scott shouts. He feels more hands on him.

Everything is a blurry mess. He can’t do this.

He gives the body once last look before passing out on Scott’s lap.


	2. Broken

Stiles wakes up in a bed that is not his own. Lifting his head up, his eyes scan the room and he is quickly greeted by Allison's face beaming up at him from a picture frame. He is definitely in Scott's bedroom. The sound of children can be heard from outside as they ride their bikes and squeal with laughter. Stiles sits up and lays his feet on the cold, hardwood floor. What time was it? It had to be in the late afternoon. He looks down and noticed he is wearing a plain, white T-shirt and boxers. Scott must have changed him. He would have to thank him later. As Stiles sat on the edge of the bed with the children's happy voices blaring in the background, he could not help but wonder how life could keep going on after someone had died. Why hasn't it affected everyone else? Why just him? Why does he have to feel this way? 

Stiles sighs and stands up. His whole body aches and he still feels tired. Standing in front of the mirror hanging on Scott's door, he takes a long, hard look at himself. His face is pale sporting bloodshot eyes (probably from the crying?) and his hair is sticking out in every direction. To say the least, he looked like shit. 

Complete and utter shit. The creaking sound of feet walking up the staircase interrupts his train of thought.

Scott knocks on the door once and lets himself in. He looks at Stiles for a few seconds and then gives him a small smile.

"Hey, buddy. Heard you get up. You've been sleeping for a while." Damn werewolf hearing. 

"What time is it?" Stiles rasps out. His voice is different, thicker. 

Scott crosses the room and sits on the end of the bed, looking Stiles up and down. "It's about five o'clock, man. You've slept the entire day."

"Oh." It doesn't feel like he's slept that long. He still feels like he could use some more sleep.

"Yeah. Maybe you should go and shower and then we can eat, talk, and figure this all out. I'm here for you, Stiles. We all are." 

We. Stiles wondered if the pack had been over yet. They obviously had to know by now what happened. Maybe they were avoiding him to give him space? Stiles wants to ask Scott but no words come out. He nods slowly. 

"I packed your stuff and brought it over here. I'll get you some towels and you can do your thing." Scott claps his hands together and jumps up, giving Stiles a quick grip on his shoulder before walking out the room.

So Stiles would be living here? He loved Scott like a brother but he was really uneasy about the thought of living with him. He kind of just wanted to be alone right now and he knew Scott would just be hovering over him for a few days at the very least. He means well but sometimes it's just too much. 

Stiles finds the duffle bag that holds his lack of clothes and shuffles out of the room to the bathroom. Towels are neatly laid out for him on the counter when he arrives. He runs his hands on top of them. The fibers feel soft and velvety under his touch. It was definitely a change already. Back at his house, their towels were faded, used up, and even had a few holes in them. 

He turns the shower on, strips, and steps into the stall. The water feels good on his skin. Pouring body wash on his hands, he scrubs hard at his skin until it turns red and blotchy. It's painful but he can't stop. Something about scrubbing away the pain, but it only causes more. 

When he's all done washing, Stiles sinks to the floor of the shower and sits under the spray for what seems like an hour. 

 

***

 

"...but he's been in the bathroom for an hour and a half. I think you should go check on him," a girl's voice says.

Stiles quietly walks down the stairs but pauses on the last step. He doesn't know why he stops, he knows Scott can hear him. It's a lost cause.

"No need," Scott says happily. "Hey buddy!"

Sighing, Stiles walks down the hallway and enters the kitchen defeated when he is greeted by Allison's enthusiastic hugs. She squeezes him tightly before letting him go and gives him a small peck on the corner of his mouth. Stiles blushes.

"Hi, Stiles," she said sadly. She take his hand and leads him to the dinner table. "Are you hungry? We have lots of food from the neighbors and friends. It's like your own buffet!"

Stiles smiles softly and shrugs, scratching his head. Allison is great and he loves that she is dating his best friend. 

"Yeah...yeah, I should probably eat something, I guess," Stiles replies and makes his way to the table to sit across from Scott. 

Allison beams and starts taking off the foil from glass dishes to heat up the meals. 

"You just missed my mom. She got called in to the hospital and will probably be working late," Scott tells him, tapping his hands on the dinner table. Stiles follows the movement before looking up slowly. 

"That's okay, I understand," he reassures him. Melissa is a hardworking lady who needs to support herself and Scott. It's not a big deal to him that she isn't here tonight. He knows she was most likely checking on him all day long while he slept.

Scott nods and then looks down at his hands, which are now folded in his lap. Stiles feels guilty. His friends are probably going to feel awkward around him and not know what to do or say. He doesn't want that.

The microwave beeps. Allison brings the plates out and sets them on the table, handing Scott and Stiles forks and knives. They sit in silence. Scott and Allison hold hands under the table and eat while Stiles stares down at his food. Normally he would think lasagna was the best thing to ever be created but he suddenly lost his appetite. Allison seems to notice because when he looks up she is looking at him with concern. Stiles looks down quickly and grabs his fork. Maybe just a few bites. That will do.

 

***

 

"Your house will be put up on the market next week and when it sells, the money will be going to you, Mr. Stilinski. But you're also only sixteen years old..." the man is saying. Stiles is sitting in front of the lawyer and nods every few minutes when it seems appropriate but he isn't really listening. Melissa sits beside him with her pen and paper out, jotting down everything the man says. Thank God for that, Stiles thinks. Hell if he could understand any of this terminology that was being thrown at him. 

"He will be staying with us, Sir," Melissa states as she reaches a hand over to place on Stile's knee, giving him a light squeeze. 

Stiles' eyes flicker over to her. She looks back at him smiling and nods as if telling him she's got this all taken care of. He looks down at his feet on the floor and wishes this meeting would end soon. It had been a rough week of figuring out his living and money situation, not to mention the funeral plans. Fuck. The funeral is tomorrow. 

He just wants to take a damn nap. 

 

***

 

Something is tickling his cheek and Stiles wakes up. He turns from his side to find Lydia lying down next to him, purposely taking her hair in her hands and tickling his face to wake him. 

"So, I guess you like to nap with your shoes still on?" She questions and begins twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, staring down at the end of the bed. Stiles slowly lifts himself up onto his elbows and follows her gaze. There his feet lay still in socks and beaten up, black Converse. Oh. 

"It's not so bad, I've done that before!" Isaac says from across the room. Stiles jumps and shifts his gaze to Isaac. Where did he come from?

"Hmm." Jackson says from the doorway, arms crossed on his chest. Okay, this is getting weird. 

"What the fu--" Stiles starts to say.

"Scott let us in," Lydia replies. She studies his face in fascination. 

Stiles sits up all the way, rubbing his eyes, and stares at the people in his, no Scott's room (how was this going to work?). 

"We wanted to visit you sooner but we didn't think you'd want to be smothered," Isaac says quietly and then walks over to the other side of Stiles and wraps his arms around him. "I'm so sorry for your loss." 

More arms wrap around him and Stiles begins to get teary-eyed. He can even feel Jackson place a hand onto his shoulder. Stiles isn't sure why, but he only brakes down when people hug him. Something about the physical acknowledgement over what he's going through gets him the most. He hates feeling so vulnerable. Lydia and Isaac's grip on him tighten as he starts to cry. He presses fingernails into their backs, needing to relieve some pain. Lydia and Isaac flinch but they take it. Stiles doesn't care, he knows it doesn't hurt them. Not really. They are fucking werewolves. They'll deal. 

When Stiles calms down he brakes away from the huddle and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He can hear Lydia make a sound of discomfort. Whatever. 

"Where's...where's everyone else? Danny? Erica....Derek?" Stiles asks. He is mostly wondering why Derek hasn't seen him yet. After all, Derek is the Alpha. Wouldn't he want to make sure he is okay? Stiles knows he is human and all but he is still certain that Derek considers him pack. 

"Danny and Erica are with Derek but they are not in town. Had to do some werewolf business in Nevada," Jackson answers, pulling away from the huddle. "They will be back home tomorrow. They send their condolences."

"Pretty sure Erica was going to lose her mind once she heard what happened. They all really wanted to be here, Stiles," Lydia adds pointedly. 

Huh, Stiles thinks. So they will be here for the funeral. "Okay, that's fine." 

Lydia stands up and straightens her summer dress. It is very short to the point where her ass is almost hanging out. She catches Stiles looking at her and winks. He looks away and clears his throat. Lydia's sexuality always makes him feel uncomfortable and even in a state of mourning and not giving a fuck about anything, it still bothers him. 

"Well," Lydia begins, "Let's get out of this room and do something. Maybe leave the house. Have you even left the house yet, Stiles?"

"Not really." Stiles is pretty sure the only time he has left Scott's bedroom is to pee or get a glass of water. Leaving the house however, has never really been an option in Stiles' mind right now. 

Lydia shuffles everyone out of the bedroom and down the stairs to greet Scott and Allison in the living room. They have the television on but aren't really watching it, probably just have it on to make it look like they aren't thinking about Stiles. Allison looks up at Stiles, the right side of her mouth curls up into a smile as she shrugs her shoulders as if to say, "Sorry, but I couldn't stop them." 

"We're going out!" Lydia shouts with her arms up in the air. Scott and Allison give her a questioning look and then shift their eyes to Stiles.

"Really?" Allison asks hesitantly. She walked over to Stiles and Scott follows. "You want to go out, Stiles? Are you sure? We can stay in tonight and watch a movie."

Stiles looks around the room uncomfortably. He doesn't want to be a downer, but he also kind of wants to go back to bed. 

"No, yeah, it's fine. Let's go out. I should get out of the house for a bit," Stiles says.

"Great! Emma is having a party tonight," Lydia says with delight.

"Lydia!" Allison scolds.

"No," Stiles holds his hands up toward Allison. "It's cool. I want to go. Let's go." He makes his way to the front door. Good thing he did wear shoes during his nap. He did not have an ounce of energy to walk back upstairs.

Lydia follows him and looks over her shoulder at Allison with a smirk on her face. 

 

***

 

Emma's party is hopping. Teens are engaged in underage drinking, rubbing against each other on the makeshift dance floor, and showing off their new fashion finds. Stiles loves parties and is never one to miss out. Tonight, however, he regrets coming when he has a very nice, comfy bed waiting for him back at Scott's house. He wonders where Scott is even sleeping these days? Maybe he is sneaking into Allison's bedroom at night? Stiles takes a swig of his beer and looks around. Scott and Allison are on the other side of the party curled up together on the couch talking quietly and sharing light touches. Lydia found some jock to flirt with, which Stiles knows will never last. He will probably just be her next play thing. Poor guy.

"Stiles! Hey, Stiles!" Greenberg is running up to him almost falling in the progress.

"Hey, man," Stiles greets back. 

"Dude...I am so sorry, man. That's like so sad. I don't even know what to say." Greenberg never really knows what to say about anything so Stiles does not care.

"Thanks."

"Are you coming back to school on Monday?"

School. Shit. He has to go back to school. "Yeah, I'll be back."

"Cool, man. It hasn't been the same without your quirky self." Stiles stares through Greenberg wondering if he will ever be himself again let alone be his "quirky" self again.

"Greenberg! Come be my partner in beer pong!" a kid Stiles did not recognize says. He wants to hug him. 

"Yeah, man! Be right there." Greenberg turns to Stiles smiles. "See you tomorrow at the funeral, Stiles." He leaves. 

Stiles moves to the kitchen and helps himself to another beer before heading to the backyard. Emma and some of her close friends are in the pool drunkenly splashing the unfortunate party guests in the surrounding area. He avoids eye contact and makes his way to the side of the house where he finds an old swing set. This must have belonged to Emma when she was a kid. Stiles can picture her father pushing her on the swing as she would shout at him to make her go higher. He sits down on one of the swings and slowly sways backward and forward while nursing his beer, his feet still touching the ground. Looking up at the night sky, he feels completely alone despite all of these people attending the same party he is at.

"Hello, Stiles." Isaac appears in front of him out of nowhere. Stiles jumps. He is pretty sure he will never get used to this. 

"Hi," Stiles returns and looks Isaac in the eye. This kid has been through hell, too. Isaac smiles and then joins him on the swing next to his. They sit in silence for a few minutes, both swaying forward and backward. Only difference is that Isaac did not have a beer. Not that it mattered. He couldn't get drunk.

Isaac is looking at him from the corner of his eye. Stiles can tell he is trying to think of something to say so he decides to help Isaac out and break the ice.

"Having a good time?" Stiles asks, taking another sip. The beer was awful. Leave it to teens to buy Pabst. 

Isaac turns his head forward and laughs, " Yeah, it's not bad. Just like any other party. Honestly, I feel like we haven't been to a party in a while. Derek doesn't really like us going."

"Why?" Stiles wonders why Derek never mentioned anything about him going to parties.

Isaac shrugs. "I guess he doesn't want us to lose control being in this kind of environment. Drunk teenagers can definitely be annoying as fuck and make you mad easily."

Stiles laughs and nods in agreement. He has a few drunken horror stories involving himself as the drunk and annoying teenager. He shivers thinking back on it. 

"You okay?" Isaac asks, looking concerned. 

"What?" Stiles looks over at Isaac. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine. Just cold I think." Isaac nods and runs his hands up the swing's chains. 

"There you two are!" Lydia says as she walks up to them with her hands on her hips. Stiles and Isaac stare at her without much interest. "Let's get out of here. This party is a total bore." 

Isaac raises one eyebrow at her and then slowly raises his lanky body up. "Okay, I'm down for whatever. Stiles?"

"Yeah, let's go." Stiles dumps the rest of his beer on the grass and tosses the can into the bushes. Isaac looks at him questionably. Stiles never litters. 

The three of them make their way around the house passing Emma and her friends in the pool. Stiles spots the jock Lydia was talking to earlier. He has his arm thrown around Emma's shoulders, whispering into her ear while she giggles. This is why Lydia wants to leave. 

Lydia glides into the house and motions to Scott and Allison that they are leaving. 

"Where's Jackson?" Stiles asks Isaac. He hasn't seen him in a while. 

Isaac snorts. "He left an hour ago. He hates parties. Well, that and he probably wants to get brownie points from Derek."

Stiles forces a small smile and follows the group outside and into Lydia's car. The drive home feels long. Lydia is complaining to Allison about the lack of men in town while Scott and Isaac talk about their upcoming training session with Derek. Because Derek is coming home tomorrow. Stiles watches the trees flash by the window as they speed down Beacon Hills' main highway. He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. 

Lydia drops Scott and Stiles off at the house and everyone says their goodbyes and tell Stiles they are thinking about him and will see him tomorrow. 

Scott follows Stiles up the stairs toward the bedroom. They both get ready for bed side by side without talking much, just surface talk. Just getting by. And it is okay. Stiles appreciates it. 

Scott gets into bed and glances over at Stiles. "You going to sleep?" 

Stiles and Scott haven't shared a bed since elementary school. Stiles doesn't not know if Scott is sick of not sleeping in his own bed lately or if he is being protective of Stiles, wanting to comfort him before the big day tomorrow. Either way, Stiles understands both scenarios. 

"Yeah," Stiles responds and pulls the covers back before slipping in next to Scott. The bed is smaller with Scott in it but he likes it. It's nice.

Scott leans over and turns the light off. The bed moves while Scott tries to get comfortable. His back is facing Stiles. Stiles' eyes start to get heavy as he listens. The sound of Scott, the light rustle of branches outside, and the faint ticking of Scott's alarm clock bring him to a dream-like state. 

 "Love you, man," Scott whispers. He sounds choked up. 

Stiles does not respond because he is already drifting and he's too tired to speak. But Scott knows. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek will make an appearance in the next chapter, I promise!
> 
> I wrote this a little hungover. Hope it's not shit.


	3. Numb

"You ready, Stiles?" Scott calls from downstairs. 

Stiles stood in front of the bedroom mirror, buttoning up his white dress shirt and playing with his tie. His black pants hung low on his hips as he tried to tighten them with a belt. He had lost 10 pounds in just a week and it was starting to show. Even his face was looking thinner. 

"Coming," he replies and walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair. Instead of putting gel in his hair like he normally did, he brushes through it once and lets it hang down without much care. He grips the edge of the countertop and stares at himself for a few minutes, starting to sweat. Taking deep breaths, Stiles splashes water on his face and gives his cheeks a quick slap, grabs his suit jacket, and heads downstairs. His hand trails down the staircase railing, steading his trembling body.

Melissa, Scott, and Allison are waiting for him at the front door. Melissa is wearing a black conservative dress with long sleeves and black pumps. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun. She looked really pretty. Then there is Allison. Everything she wears looks effortless and beautiful. Today is no different. Her hair is down and curled, falling onto her shoulders. The black dress flows out nicely and a pair of black booties complement her. Scott looks almost identical to Stiles, wearing the same, basic black suit.

They were all dressed up and ready to mourn. 

 

***

 

Beacon Hills Cemetery was located on the edge of the forest, lush with trees and bright green grass. The hill surrounding got higher and higher until it reached the beginning of the mountain. The pack often climbed up that mountain to find an appropriate training spot and Stiles would tag along despite his inability to join in the actual training sessions. It was entertaining though, to watch his friends fight each other and make fools of themselves. Allison would sit next to him on a rock and they would make bets on who would win. His eyes trailed up the path they would take. They always used the cemetery as a short cut to get there. He thought about all the times he ran behind them in the dark without much thought that it  _was_  a cemetery they were running through. And now he was in the cemetery for reasons a cemetery existed. In the daylight. He was never here during the daylight. Stiles began to feel nervous.

Everything was white; the chairs, the casket, the podium, and even some of the people were dressed in white. He remembered Melissa asking him if he'd want to wear colors to celebrate the departed's life rather than mourn it. Stiles understood why that would be an option but he didn't want to sit here in color pretending to celebrate anything. He just couldn't. It didn't seem right.

Scott and Allison sat on either side of him while the rest of the pack were seated behind him. He looked over his shoulder to meet the familiar faces of the pack. Erica and Danny were there as well. They must have returned to Beacon Hills early this morning. Erica's eyes were tearing up as she caught his gaze and she smiled sadly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Danny is looking past Stiles to the front of the funeral where the pastor is opening the ceremony, but Stiles knows he's looking at him from the corner of his eyes. Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac are all staring at him with concern and uncertainty. There is someone missing and Stiles' stomach aches in disappointment.

Scott and Allison grab his hands, causing him to move his attention forward. Stiles stared the pastor down and watched his lips form different shapes as he spoke. Who the fuck was this guy? He had never seen him before. And why a pastor? He was never religious. 

"...if anyone has anything to say about the late Sheriff Stilinski, please feel free to come up and share," the pastor states warmly.

Stiles stiffens. He already made it clear to Melissa and Scott that he would not be speaking today but he still felt uneasy about the pastor offering the podium to the crowd. Scott sensed his distress and mouths, "Are you okay?" to him. Stiles nods quickly and runs his hands down his thighs. He watches as deputies and family friends make their way up to the podium to share their favorite memories of his father. Some people at the podium Stiles did not even recognize. He listened to their stories; some he knew and some he didn't. The unfamiliar stories made him angry that he didn't know them, especially the ones involving his father's younger years. He felt guilty that he never asked his dad much about his childhood or young adult years. Fuck, he was a bad son. And now he would never be able to have another conversation with his dad again. It was all shit. He had been so selfish.

The ceremony ended 40 minutes later and people made their way to Stiles to give their condolences before walking to the parking lot. Probably heading to the wake soon after. The entire morning had already been somewhat of a blur and Stiles really did not not want to go to the wake and be social right now. Allison came up to him, taking his hand in hers. "Who do you want to ride with to the wake?" she asks. 

"I--I kind of want to be alone right now. I'll catch up later," Stiles replies, avoiding her eyes. 

"But-" Scott is now standing in front of him. 

"Scott, it's fine," Stiles assures the other boy. "It's just down the street. I don't need a ride." And he was right. It was just going to be held at the lake house right around the corner. He needed to be alone and recharge his batteries before facing these people again.

Allison nods and motions for the pack to go on ahead. She gives Stiles one last look before turning her back, dragging a defeated Scott with her. 

Stiles is not entirely alone. The casket had been placed down into the earth already but two men, gravediggers, were standing under a tall tree as they waited for the funeral party to leave. For Stiles to leave. These were the guys who would bury his father? Stiles is disgusted. What gave them the right to have this task? They did not know his father or care about him at all. 

Stiles is pissed to say the least. He glares at the two men as he strides up to them.

"Could you please give me a moment to be alone with my father before you fucking bury him in the ground forever!?" he vehemently shouts, his whole body shaking. 

"Whoa, man, we're just here to do our job," one of the men exclaims. He's a large man with a bald head and bushy beard. 

"LEAVE," Stiles gasps before falling to the ground in front of the hole, digging his fingers into the grass until he feels soil get caught under his fingernails.

He looks up and realized he got his wish. Completely alone, Stiles continued to sit and look down at the casket, not quite sure what to do. He looks around him. it was quiet and he wondered if this was the moment he was supposed to get some kind of sign his dad was looking over him. Should he start talking to his dad? No, that was stupid. Sighing, he stands up, brushes his hands off his pants (another pair of pants ruined?) and takes his suit jacket off, placing it onto one of the guest chairs before facing forward again. 

"That was interesting," a soft voice says. Stiles jumps and turns his head slowly.

Derek Hale is standing next to him, staring down at the casket. He isn't wearing a suit or anything but he still looks good. Wearing a dark green Henley, black jeans, and dark brown Converse, his arms are crossed over his chest. Everything is always so dark with this guy and he owns it. 

Stiles blinks and looks down. Of course he chose this moment to get himself dirty. 

"Yeah, well...I'm never one to be dull," Stiles admits. What a stupid reply. 

Derek doesn't respond to that, just raises his eyebrows as he stared on at the casket, nodding to it. "Not a bad casket. Don't think I've seen a white one before."

"Thank--what--where did you come from?" Stiles jumbles his words. 

"Nevada," the older man says, making it sound obvious. He still keeps his gaze forward.

"No...I mean, you literally just appeared out of thin air."

"Erica and Danny left before me this morning. I knew I couldn't be here in time but I did not want to stop them from being here," Derek says with a shrug.

"Oh. Uh, thanks, I guess?" That didn't exactly answer his question.

Derek hummed. 

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, playing with his hands. Derek turns to him and Stiles meets his eyes for the first time in over a week. "Are you going to the wake?" the man asks.

Stiles sighs. "I really don't want to."

Derek nods. "I don't blame you."

Stiles is relieved. Finally someone would be on his side about this. 

"But you should probably go. You have your responsibilities and everyone is expecting you." Ah, that's the Derek he knows. Always giving him hope before smashing it into the ground. 

The older man turns and starts walking toward the road. Stiles grabs his suit jacket and follows. 

 

***

 

When Stiles walks into the lake house after Derek, no one seems to notice they are there except for the pack. Which, in Stiles' opinion, was the greatest thing to happen all day. Everyone else at the gathering are too involved in their own conversations, probably sharing more memories of his father. The pack sat by the open bar in the back corner of the building, watching Derek and Stiles. 

Scott is the first to approach them.

"Derek," Scott nods to his Alpha. "Hope all went well in Nevada."

"Not too bad. Looks like we have new allies," Derek says and places a hand on the back of Scott's neck, giving him a tight squeeze. Derek and Scott never touched each other much, but they hadn't seen each other in over a week so Stiles assumed that's why Derek felt the need to show him affection. Scott leans into the touch for a few seconds before moving to stand beside Stiles. Derek's arm drops back to his side. Stiles knows Scott would never admit it, but he definitely enjoyed that bonding moment. 

Isaac is next to join them, standing close to Derek's side so their shoulders are touching. Now, Isaac is never embarrassed to seek comfort from his Alpha. He probably is the most affectionate out of everyone in the pack. The three of them start talking and discussing pack business while Stiles stares off into the crowd. Some people are looking at him, most likely wondering if they should approach him to talk about his dad or not. Stiles avoids eye contact and tries to focus on the white roses and decorations that cover the gathering. His eyes fall on the blown up photograph of his dad. It was one of his deputy pictures from work, all dressed up in his uniform. He looked happy. Stiles feels sick. And hot. So hot. Sweat starts to form on his forehead. He feels a hand on the small of his back. Turning his head to the side he realizes it is Derek's hand, but Derek is still engaged in conversation with Scott and Isaac. Stiles sighs and fans his hand in front of his face, trying to seek some sort of coolness. 

Lydia then approaches Stiles with a clear cup of water, passing it to him. "Here ya go, Stiles. It will make you feel better."

Stiles had never felt so thankful before and it confused him that Lydia caused him this sudden happiness. "Thanks, Lyd."

"Stiles! I wouldn't--" he heard Allison call from the pack table. It was too late. He gulps the water down in one swig. 

Only it isn't water. It is vodka. 

Oh God. 

Stiles lunges his body forward and coughs violently, gasping for air. Everyone in the room is staring at him in confusion. 

Lydia stands dumbfounded in front of Stiles while Derek glares at her. Allison runs up to Stiles, grabs his arm and leads him to the bathrooms. 

"Are you that stupid, Lydia?" Stiles hears Danny ask.

"How was I supposed to know he couldn't control a double shot? I've seen him do it before! I was trying to help," she whispers back, arms flung in the air. 

Stiles does not hear the rest of the argument because Allison is shoving him into the women's restroom.

 

***

 

"Uh, Allison? This is the women's room." Stiles says cautiously, still trying to catch his breath. 

"What of it?" Allison locks the door behind her and then finds some plush, white towels under the sink cabinet. Wow, what a snazzy place. Stiles doubts they had those in the men's room.

"I can't believe Lydia. And Jackson! Jackson started laughing when Lydia got up and walked over to you. It didn't cross my mind until I saw the clear cup," she says, wetting a towel and wiping his face and shirt clean. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. You didn't deserve that." Stiles grabs her hands.

"Alli, I've got this."

She stops and looked at him like he had grown two heads. 

There is a knock at the door.

Allison doesn't leave her gaze from Stiles. "Who is it?"

"It's me," came another female voice. Erica.

Allison unlocks the door and Erica comes strolling in. "Hey, little man," she greets Stiles.

"Oh, come on!" Stiles yells dramatically. He did not want to be part of this girl time. Why was this happening? Stiles is a grown man, thank you very much. Well, kind of. Almost?

"What's going on out there?" Allison asks Erica, ignoring Stiles' protest. 

"Everyone seems to think Stiles is having a panic attack. A lot of people started to leave, actually, thinking he needed space. Derek took Lydia outside. Not sure what's going on there," Erica smirks.

Stiles starts to feel warm and tingly. Maybe that cup of vodka had been more than two shots. He didn't know. What he did know is that he wanted more. Now.

"I want more," he whines. 

Erica raises an eyebrow at Allison. "The kid wants more, Alli."

"What! No. Erica, that's the last thing he needs right now."

Stiles feels both girls' eyes on him. He is now sitting on the bathroom floor, staring down at his dress shoes and playing with the thin laces. 

"Honestly, I think it's the _first_ thing he needs right now," Erica says sadly. 

Victory, Stiles thought.

Allison sighs. 

***

 

 Stiles feels good to say the least. Well, as good as you could possibly feel after attending your father's funeral. The lake house had closed, causing him and the rest of the pack to relocate to the dock. He sits at the edge of the long strip of wood, his pale legs dangling in the water. Stiles isn't exactly sure what happened to his dress pants but he doesn't care. Boxers are way more comfy. Erica and Allison sit beside him, Erica with a half empty bottle of vodka nestled between her knees and Allison with her head on his shoulder. Jackson and Lydia had left earlier. They aren't exactly welcome here right now. 

Derek is standing behind the pack, arms crossed and staring out into the lake. Stiles can't see him but he knows he is still there. Isaac, Scott, and Danny left, seeking food to bring back. It is lunch time and all they had to eat were cheap appetizers from the wake that did not satisfy the large stomachs of not only werewolves, but growing teenagers as well. 

Stiles motions to his empty cup while looking over at Erica dreamily. She smirks and grabs the bottle from her lap to pour a shot into his cup before taking a swig from the bottle herself. 

They sit there for some time, enjoying each other's company. And really, that is all Stiles can ask for right now. 


	4. Crushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to the previous chapters to do some editing and even added a bit to them. I don't have a beta. If you think this fic is worth having a beta or if you would be interesting in beta-ing it, let me know!

"Fuck," Scott groans. He's holding onto Stiles who is now trying to strip naked and jump into the lake. After getting some food in him, it seemed that Stiles got a second burst of energy. 

He squirmed and tried to push away from Scott, his arms flailing around helplessly. Allison and Erica moved back trying to avoid getting poked in the eye. Stiles managed to get his dress shoes off and his dress shirt open, it falling down his shoulders. With his dress pants having departed a while back, he only had the rest of his dress shirt and socks to take care of. And maybe his boxers. The boxers are questionable. Maybe if Erica will let him have another shot...

"Let...me go!" Stiles cries out. "It's hot! I want to go for a swim." It's all logical to Stiles. He's hot and wants to cool off in the lake. What's the big deal?

"Stiles," Scott grunts out. "You're not exactly capable of swimming right now. You're drunk and it's getting dark..." 

Stiles does not respond but stops moving, exhausted from pushing against a brick wall. He crouches down onto his hands and knees, hovering over the edge of the dock. Scott follows his move behind him, unsure what Stiles' next adventurous plan will be.

"I think he's gonna be--" Allison starts to say hesitantly.

Stiles pukes into the lake. 

"Thatta boy!" Erica beams, patting Stiles on the back while he finishes up. Danny steps back slowly and looks like he's trying stop himself from joining Stiles.

Scott stands up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He looks over to Isaac and Derek behind him. Isaac looks at him shrugging his shoulders, and continues to watch the show in front of him. Derek still has his arms crossed, staring at Stiles with curiosity. 

"Well?!" Scott asks Derek. "Aren't you going to do something?"

Derek shifts his eyes to Scott's after a few moments and raises his right eyebrow. "He's _your_ best friend. What do you expect me to do? He's doing exactly what he needs to do- getting the alcohol out of his system," the older man says pointing at Stiles, who was still emptying his stomach. Erica is still patting his back while Allison sits by his side, running her hand through his short hair. 

"I can't...he can't," Scott looks back and forth between his ill friend on the floor and Derek. He clears his throat and tries again, "I can't bring him home. My mom is going to be pissed that I let him get drunk. Jesus."

Isaac steps forward. "Maybe he just needs another hour or so. We can get him some more water and clean him up," he suggests.

Scott, Isaac, and Derek all look over at Stiles. He is now lying on his back, staring up into the sky and panting. His eyes are bloodshot and he has a little bit of spit (or vomit?) sliding down his cheek. Very attractive. Allison places her hand onto his exposed chest and rubs. 

"Yeah...I don't think that's going to happen," Scott sighs. Stiles looks over at Scott with dazed eyes and smiles. Scott waves and says, "Hey, buddy."

"We'll take him back to our place then," Derek says reluctantly. 

Danny and Isaac look at each other. Probably wondering who will be the lucky one to take care of Stiles tonight.

"Perfect idea!" Erica is now standing up with a satisfied look on her face. 

"Thank you so much, Derek. I owe you," Scott sighs with relief. He drops to the floor beside Stiles, starting to put his friend's shoes back on.

"I'll keep that in mind, " Derek says and starts to walk up the dock toward land.

Scott flinches, wondering if he made the right decision. He really didn't want to know what Derek was planning for him.

He shrugs. Stiles is worth it.

"Alright, buddy, let's stand you up and get you dressed."

"Where...where are we going?" Stiles slurs.

"You're going to be staying at Derek's tonight," Scott says as he lifts Stiles up so Allison can start putting the boy's pants on.

Stiles' eyes widen. "No..no, I'm going back to your place. Your house. That place," he says. He puts his hands on Allison's shoulders for balance as she buttons his shirt up. 

"Nah, you're going to Derek's. Just for tonight. You can come back tomorrow. I promise," Scott reassures him and pats his head before throwing Stiles' arm around his shoulders. Isaac takes Stile's other side. It's uncomfortable. The height difference between Scott and Isaac is so dramatic that Stiles feels like his body is being torn apart. 

"No...Isaac, no," Stiles says. Isaac looks at him questionably and then realizes the problem. He leaves Stiles side and Allison takes his place. That's better, Stiles thinks. Allison smirks and scratches his head.

Danny and Erica follow behind them, talking quietly and guessing what tonight will be like with a drunk Stiles present. 

Derek leads the pack into the woods, not looking back.

 

***

 

When they reach the cabin twenty minutes later, the sun is setting, leaving a pinkish purple color in the sky. Stiles stares up at it and then turns to Scott and says seriously, "Cotton candy."

Scott lets out a laugh. "Yeah man, sure." He then tilts his head back to give Allison a look. She lets out a snort before stopping to place a hand over her mouth, her cheeks flaming red. Scott stares at her loving her even more. 

The pack step into the house after Derek, filing into the living room. It was nice. A leather couch and two chairs sat on top of a Persian rug in front of a flat screen TV. The cabin was really coming along. They had been working on it here and there since summer. It also helped with the life insurance Derek received after the fire. Derek wanted to make this place theirs. The pack's. Always a place for them to come home to. Even for Stiles, despite how reluctant Derek seemed to be about it earlier.

Derek walked over to one of the leather chairs to settle down, and nodded to the couch. Scott and Allison took that as a demand and lowered Stiles onto it. He flopped down, taking up all of the room and lazily kicked at his shoes with his eyes fluttering shut. Scott got down on his knees and helped him take the dress shoes off, setting them by the front door. 

"Alright, dude. You're here! At Derek's. Allison and I are leaving for the night. We'll be back tomorrow." 

Stiles opens his eyes and stares up at them while Scott pats his leg and Allison bends down to place a kiss on his cheek. "Okay."

Scott and Allison say their goodbyes to the rest of the pack, give Derek a small wave, and head out. 

"Okay!" Erica shouts, causing Stiles to jump and open his eyes. "Let's get you to a tub, Stiles. You smell."

"Glad I didn't have to be the one to say it," Danny adds, walking over to Stiles to pick him up.

Derek holds his hand up. "No, I've got this. You two have traveled far and need to rest. It's been a long week."

Erica and Danny blink.

"But, so have you--" Erica begins to say.

"I've got this. Go." Derek turns to Isaac, "You too, Isaac."

Isaac looks disappointed, but follows Erica and Danny up the stairs to their bedrooms. 

Stiles starts hiccuping. Derek sighs and before Stile's knows it, he's being picked up and taken upstairs to the bathroom.

 

***

 

Derek sets Stiles on the toilet. "Do you need to throw up more?" he asks, leaning down in front of the boy.

Stiles shakes his head and looks away, embarrassed. He has never been this drunk in front of Derek before and feels so vulnerable. 

The older man nods, his back now to Stiles as he turns on the bathtub faucet and places a hand underneath it. They don't talk as Derek waits for the water to get warmer. Stiles sways and focuses on Derek's back. The man's dark green Henley fits him perfectly and Stiles is a little jealous. He can't dress himself for anything. 

Derek looks at him over his shoulder, his eyebrows are raised.

"...what?" Stiles slurs. Did he say something out loud?

Derek tilts his head to look down his back and Stiles follows his gaze. Stiles' hand is on Derek's back, his fingers spread out. Stiles snatches his hand back, cheeks heating up.

"Uh...sorry?"

But Derek has already turned his attention back to the tub. He plugs it up and grabs a towel from the cabinet to dry his hands on. The water must be warm enough. Stiles wonders how long Derek will give him in the tub. He kind of feels like sitting in there all night, really. Bathtubs are the best but also kind of gross. Feels amazing but you're also kind of sitting in your own filth for a while so Stiles doesn't know how sanitary that is. Probably not sanitary at--

And Derek Hale is taking his clothes off. _What_. _The. Fuck._

"Hey! Whoa....hey," Stiles protests. Derek doesn't listen, just keeps buttoning down the younger man's dress shirt with ease and shrugging it off of him. Stiles looks down and sees that his socks are already missing, too. 

He stiffens and grabs onto Derek's shoulders. "Wait," he gasps. Derek stops and looks annoyed, his fingers on Stiles' pants' button.

"Stiles, it's nothing I haven't seen before. I'm a male and you're a male. We have dicks. Deal with it."

Derek has a point there and Stiles isn't exactly in the right state of mind to come up with an excuse so he loosens his grip on Derek and let's him finish undressing him. Whatever. He definitely couldn't undress himself right now anyway.

Derek continues and then Stiles' boxers are next. Stiles' stomach starts to lurch which makes him even more embarrassed because he knows Derek can hear it. The Alpha doesn't say anything, however, just stands Stiles up so he can slide his boxers down his body and onto the floor. He grips the boys arms and leads him toward the tub, lowering him gently inside. The water feels awesome and Derek even put some bubbles in there for him. He smirks. He's gonna have to tell the pack Derek digs bubble baths. 

Stiles sits there while Derek starts to scrubs at his skin with a sponge. They don't say anything for some time. He put his knees up and wraps his arms around them as Derek begins washing his hair. He feels like a child again. It's weird and Stiles is still not quite sure what to think about it. It's probably Derek's weird Alpha instincts and the need to take care of his pack. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek suddenly asks.

Stiles stiffens. This is unexpected. He doesn't know how to respond to that. If it was Scott, or anyone else really, then he would know what to say. But this is _Derek_. _Emotionless_ Derek. Derek who doesn't care much about feelings or having heart to hearts. 

So, instead of answering him, Stiles' raises a soapy water-soaked hand from the tub and places it onto Derek's scruffy cheek. "You're so scratchy."

Derek rolls his eyes and then puts his hand into the tub, his fingers caressing Stiles' ass as he pulls the plug. Stiles jumps. 

"Let's go," Derek says as he puts a hand out for Stiles to grab onto. The boy takes it and is then shuffled into a fluffy towel. Derek dries him off and leads him to the master bedroom. 

Stiles has never been inside of Derek's room before. He looks around in fascination as the older man disappears into the closet. It's not much but it's still nice. There's a king-sized bed, two beside tables, and a dresser. All of the furniture is black with stainless steel handles. The bedding is white and sports black outlines of different triangular shapes. He grips the towel tighter around his chest and stumbles toward the bedroom window. It's pitch black and he can't see much. Maybe he can ask Derek what his werewolf eyes can see. 

Derek appears and hands some clothing over to Stiles. Some boxers and a T-shirt. Stiles grabs them gratefully. He's cold. 

"I'll be right back," the man says, leaving Stiles alone in the bedroom.

He walks over to the door and pokes his head out. The hallway is bare and quiet. Stiles wonders if Erica, Isaac, and Danny are really sleeping or not. He shrugs and closes the door so he can change in peace. Derek's boxers and T-shirt are big on him but they will do for tonight. The boxers slide down his hips while he folds the towel and places it onto the dresser. 

"Ugh," Stiles whines and grips the boxers, trying to get them to stay. 

Derek walks in with a large glass of water and Aspirin. He gives Stiles a questionable look before handing the boy his water and medicine. Stiles chugs the water down and swallows the pill. He drinks too fast and starts coughing. Derek pats his back a little and then steps back to continue watching him.

"Why did you close the door?" the man asks.

Stiles blinks. "Um, I was changing? I don't know. Why?"

Derek shrugs and walks over to the bed, taking the extra pillows off and pulling the comforter down, exposing the silky sheets. 

"I will be sleeping downstairs on the couch, if you need anything," Derek tells him.

"Okay," Stiles agrees. Well, this is awkward. He's taking the bed and causing his Alpha to sleep on the couch. Was this going to bite him in the ass tomorrow? ...Literally?

Derek motions for the boy to get into bed. Stiles looks at him for a few moments, as if questioning his trust in the older man. He walks slowly over to the bed and gives Derek a look as he passes him, bumping into the beside table in the process. Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles slides into the bed, Derek pulling the sheets over him. The boy looks up at the ceiling as the older man sits on the side of the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Stiles thinks about the funeral, his dad, his friends, and...vodka. Fucking vodka. Why did he think this was a good idea? Oh...wait, Lydia. Lydia gave it him and then he got buzzed and wanted more. So stupid. The alpha continues to pet through his hair and Stiles' eyes grow heavy. He feels a shift in the bed and the lights are off. The door is slowly creaking to a close. 

"He did it himself," Stiles whispers into the dark, his eyes fluttering shut.

"What?" Derek asks. He opens the door and walks over to the boy. 

"He did it himself." Stiles lolls his head to the side and slowly slips into unconsciousness. He thinks he can feel the brush of lips on his forehead. He might be dreaming. 

 


	5. Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny how chapters can take you hours and hours to write and then you post it and it looks like you've written nothing. 
> 
> This chapter is....bad. My apologies. Still looking for a beta!

Stiles woke up to a stream of light in his eyes. He kept his eyes shut while the memories of the previous night entered his mind, causing his stomach to drop. Groaning, he lifted his head from his pillow, his very silky pillow, to find that he was completely alone in Derek’s bedroom. In his bed. Shit, he thought. He would never hear the end of this. Especially from Erica. She lived to terrorize others about their bad decision making. And this…this was definitely one of Stiles’ worst decisions in a while.

He could remember most of the night and how good he felt at the prime of his inebriation. It was a short distraction from thinking about his father and he was grateful at the time. Now, however, that feeling was completely vacant. He felt the opposite, if not worse about what he’s been through. The fact that he caused some problems for his pack yesterday was enough for him to feel like shit, let alone the awful realization that he was an orphan now consumed his mind. Orphan. Stiles shuddered.

Pulling himself up cautiously, in hope to not cause any sudden urges to throw up, he got out of the bed and made it. His fingers ran over the bedding as he folded the top and tucked in the sheets. It was a nice bed, he had to admit. A lot nicer than his. And then he felt even shittier. Where did Derek sleep last night?

Stiles padded over to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, using a finger as his makeshift toothbrush. He made his way into Derek’s closet and rummaged through it trying to find something that wouldn’t completely drown him. Giving up, he picked out some black pants, fastening a belt tightly to his waist to keep them up, and a dark, navy blue V-neck. This will have to do. 

He felt hungry…but not hungry? He wants to eat but is not exactly sure if he will be able to keep anything down. The only thing he’s one hundred percent sure on is that he needs coffee. Now.

Making his way over to the bedroom door, he carefully opened it and stuck his head out, looking down the hallway. It’s quiet except for the faint sound of dishes clanking together coming from the kitchen downstairs. His stomach lurched and he takes a deep breath. Please don’t be Derek. 

It’s not Derek. Stiles finds Erica lounging at the kitchen island reading a book that was spread out under her with a coffee mug in her hands. She looks up at him when he enters the kitchen and winks before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” she drawls. Her hair is in a mess of curls. Looks like Stiles wasn’t the only one to wake up late.

“Uh, hey,” Stiles says, his eyes focused on her book. “…what are you reading?”

Erica frowns and then looks down at her book. “A collected works of poetry.”

“Neat. How is it?”

“I don’t know yet,” she shrugs. Stiles does not see Erica liking poetry. “I found it in Derek’s study. Thought it would be romantic. It’s just depressing, really.”

“Most romantic poetry is depressing.” Erica quirks an eyebrow at him.

Stiles continues, “But hey, sorry about last night. I didn’t realize until this morning how drunk I got and I feel so lame.”

Erica grins and puts her mug of coffee on the island before making her way over to the coffee pot. “How do you take your coffee?”

Stiles usually prefers iced coffee but he wasn’t about to give his pack mate any more problems. She already had a pot made of steaming, hot coffee.

“A little bit of milk and sugar, please,” he responds, pulling a bar stool around to take a seat across from Erica’s set up. 

His coffee is placed in front of him and Erica goes back to reading poetry and sipping at her own mug. They sit in silence as Stiles looks out the kitchen window. The sound of pages turning every so often and the faint chirping of birds bring him to a state of relaxation.

 

 

***

 

 

**From: Scott**

**Received: 10:46 AM**

**Hey buddy! How are you feeling? Alli and I are getting ready to head over soon.**  
 ****

 

Stiles stared down at the text and then looked back up at Erica who was looking at him with curiosity, her finger placed on the last sentence she read from her book. He didn’t know what to say to Scott. The truth was that he felt shitty but okay because he’s having some relaxing, bonding time with Erica. And Erica doesn’t feel the need to chat him up. Not that Stiles wasn’t quite the chatterbox himself, but he really wasn’t in the mood right now. He hadn’t been in the mood for two weeks. 

“Problem?” she asks. 

“It’s just Scott. Him and Alli are probably going to be here soon.” Erica nods and goes back to her book before Stiles coughed, causing her to look back up, an eyebrow raised.

“Um, where is everyone else?”

“The boys went out for a run and training session with Derek. I stayed behind to make sure you were okay,” Erica said, looking him up and down.

“Oh geez. You didn’t have to do that, Erica. Really.”

Erica shrugs. “I wanted to. Besides, it got me out of a running and training session. So really, Mr. Hungover, you’re helping me out.”

Stiles grinned at her and looked back down at his phone.

 

**To: Scott**

**Sent: 10:55 AM**

**Hey. I’m okay. Sounds good. See you so-**  
 ****

 

As Stiles was texting the last word, Erica slammed her hands down on the island, making him jump and look around in fear.   
 ****

“I can’t do it anymore! I’m done with this book,” Erica screeches. She slammed the book shut and chucked it to the living room. It fell onto the Persian rug. She made her way over to the sink to deposit her empty mug before walking by Stiles to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Stiles blushed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Stiles nodded his understanding and went back to finish the last word of his text to Scott before walking over to the dishwasher to get rid of his mug as well.

Alone again, he thought. Maybe he could make his way back to Scott’s house now? He could text Scott not to bother. He could use a nice, long walk anyway. 

Stiles made his way to the front door and onto the porch, looking down at his phone to pop up a new text draft when a very sweaty Isaac ran into him. His phone dropped to the floor and so did he. Having a werewolf trample into you wasn’t exactly the best feeling. 

“Oh shit, Stiles. Sorry, man. You came out of nowhere!” Before Stiles could respond with a “you mean YOU came out of nowhere?!” he’s being picked up from the floor. Isaac picks up his cell phone too and moves it towards the other boys' hands, giving him a toothy grin. 

“It’s all good. Thanks,” he says, grabbing hold of his phone.

“What’s going on out here?” an annoyed voice calls from behind Stiles. 

Stiles stiffens and then turns to find Derek standing in the doorway drying his hair with a towel. Wait. Since when was Derek here?

“I accidentally ran into Stiles. Wanted to make sure I beat Danny…” Isaac responds, his eyes looking at the floor. 

Derek sighs. “You’d think you wouldn’t be so clumsy by now.”

Danny comes into site, running from the forest towards them. Derek nods his head to Danny and then turns to Isaac. “But congrats, you did beat Danny.”

Isaac lifts his head and beams with excitement.

“Wait. Derek, when did you get here?” Stiles asks.

Derek’s eyes scanned over Stiles, probably noticing his clothes were on the boy. Shit. Stiles didn’t think about that. He blushed and tried to focus on Danny getting closer to them. 

But Derek doesn’t say anything about the clothes. He just looks back up to meet Stiles’ gaze and answer his question. Was this approval of him wearing his Alpha’s clothes?

“I got here 15 minutes ago through the guest bathroom window upstairs,” he says with a shrug and started folding the towel. Guest bathroom? Why didn’t he shower in his own bathroom?

“Ugh, I could definitely use a shower, “ Danny says, walking up to them looking defeated. 

“No way man, I’m first. I beat you,” Isaac replies aggressively. He glared at Danny and looked like he was getting ready to pounce. Such dogs, Stiles thought. 

“Erica’s taking a shower, guys,” Stiles says. Isaac and Danny groan.

“She’s done,” Derek adds before making his way back into the house. Isaac shoves Danny to the ground and runs into the house. 

Did..did Derek and Erica shower together? That was just weird. Stiles knew that a bond between Alpha and Beta was a very important part of being in a pack but this was just too close. 

Danny grunts from the floor, holding his stomach.

“Hey…Danny?” Stiles whispers.

Danny looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, waiting for Stiles to continue.

“Uh, does Derek, like, shower with you guys?” Shit. That was probably the most awkward question Stiles has ever had to ask Danny. And he’s asked Danny plenty of awkward questions including whether or not Danny found him attractive.

Danny just shrugs. “He’s never showered with me before but he has with the others. They’ve been part of the pack longer, though…why?” The others. Does that mean Scott too? No, Scott wouldn’t do that…would he? 

“Uh, just wondering. I guess I’m still trying to get used to this whole pack bonding thing and being the only human besides Alli,” he whispers back.

“It’s not like…anything sexual if that’s what you’re thinking,” Danny says with a perplexed look on his face. 

Stiles blushes and wipes his hands on his pants. “No, right. I know. Uh. Nevermind. I’m gonna go inside.” 

He leaves Danny on the floor tending to his bruises.

 

 

                                       ***

 

 

Derek is in the kitchen making lunch for himself and the pack. It smells amazing and Stiles is starving. He’s pretty sure he could eat as much as all the werewolves combined at this point. The boy makes his way to the kitchen island and watches the Alpha cook. Derek does not look at him or acknowledge his presence, just carries on stirring inside the pots and flipping the meat on the pans. 

Stiles coughs before taking a deep breath. “Derek?” 

The older man continues his routine of making the lunch, his back facing Stiles but responds quickly. “Yes?”

“I’m..I’m really sorry about last night.”

Derek walks over to the spice rack.

Stiles watches him as he continues. “It must have been…a burden for you. And I’m sorry I took over your bed. You could have thrown me on the couch. Or I could have found my way to the couch. And the bath. Oh Jesus. I forgot about the bath. I..”

“Stiles, stop.” Derek is now facing him, his hands on the island across from Stiles. 

Stiles looks up at him nervously. “Okay.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Derek nods before turning back to the stove. “You can start setting the table.”

“I’ll help!” Erica calls from the hallway. She steps into the kitchen wearing jeans and a purple tank top. Her hair is still wet from the shower. The shower with Derek. Stiles looks away and starts opening the plate cabinet. He passes the plates to the girl and she takes them with ease. 

“Erica, why didn’t you wash your coffee mug or _at least_ put it in the dishwasher?” Derek says as he’s rinsing off a spatula. 

“Oh, lighten up. It’s one mug.” She makes her way over to the sink and swipes the mug and shoves it into the dishwasher. 

“Yes, and that one mug leads to more mugs and dishes in the sink. Everyone else is going to think they can do this.” 

Erica rolls her eyes and then gives Stiles a wink behind Derek’s back. What is up with this girl’s winking? 

Isaac walks into the kitchen and finds a spot at the dinner table. He’s less sweaty and looks more comfortable now that he has showered. His curls are plastered to his face, however, causing drips of water to fall onto his shoulders. 

“Danny finally got the shower?” Stiles asks Isaac.

Isaac laughs and scoots over as Erica makes room for herself next to him. “Yup. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.”

“You’re such a fucker,” Danny calls from upstairs. Isaac flinches and looks over at Erica. They both laugh hysterically. 

Stiles joins them at the table as they wait for Derek to finish putting the pasta into a bowl and the meat onto a platter. Erica turns to Stiles.

“Where’s Scott and Allison? I thought they were coming.”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Erica frowns and then turns her attention to Derek’s back. “Better yet, where’s Jackson and Lydia? Are they banished forever? I’m actually starting to miss them, surprisingly enough.”

“It hasn’t even been a full day yet, Erica,” Isaac snickers.

“They will be here tomorrow,” Derek adds, placing the food on the table in front of them before sitting down next to Stiles. 

Stiles looks over at Derek to his right. Derek always looks so perfect. Even up close. His face is perfect with that stubble and sharp nose and defined cheekbones. If it was any other day, possibly one when he wasn’t grieving the death of his father, he’d probably get a boner right now having him so close. Last night he had a Vodka dick so that for sure wasn’t going to happen. And then Stiles wondered if he’d even get a boner anytime soon. He hasn’t really touched himself in the past two weeks since the death of his father. It kind of turned off that part of his brain. He tried once in the shower but he couldn’t get it up. 

Derek is now looking at him with his eyebrows raised. Shit. Werewolves can’t hear your thoughts, right? That’s not like something Scott has warned him about? Nah. They can’t hear his thoughts. But they can smell. Arousal? But Derek can’t smell his arousal because he doesn’t have a boner. Right? Or is it more than just boners? Fuck. 

“What?” Stiles asks. 

Derek turns his attention back to his plate of food. “Nothing.”

Stiles looks up at Erica, Isaac, and Danny. When did Danny get here? Wasn’t he upstairs? Stiles grabs his fork and turns his attention to his own plate and frowns. It’s empty. Nothing is on it. Erica is looking at him with concern. Everyone else’s plates have food on them and are even close to being gone. 

Stiles’ hunger had left but he knew he had to eat something. He reached over to the platter with his fork and stabbed a piece of steak and set it on his plate. The pack discussed werewolf business once again as Stiles cut into his steak. It was a little undercooked and he thought he might gag. These guys are gross. How can they eat meat like this? 

Derek was then spooning some pasta from the bowl and placing it onto Stiles’ plate.

“Uh…thanks?” Stiles says with discomfort. Derek didn’t reply, he just continued talking to the rest of the pack about an upcoming meeting. 

The boy twirled his pasta with his fork and stared outside. It was a little windy and the trees swayed a bit. A sudden wave of melancholy overcame him. The chatter of his pack quieted down. Stiles stared down at his food and began to feel sick. He jumped up and ran to the guest bathroom downstairs. 

He could hear light whispers being exchanged amongst the pack but he didn’t even bother trying to figure out what they were saying. 

Stiles emptied his stomach into the toilet, which was really just water and coffee. It still wasn’t pleasant. He moaned and sunk down to the floor, leaning his back to the bathroom wall. Being hungover sucked but he felt like he couldn’t complain because he did it to himself. He wanted to get out of here and be alone for a while. It was hard to carry on with everyone and keep a smile on his face. 

He got up and washed his mouth out, drying himself off with a hand towel. He will just tell them he’s not feeling too well and rather be at the McCall’s where he can be alone. That wasn’t mean, it was just honest. People like honesty. For the most part?

Stiles opened the door to find that the pack had moved to the living room. Isaac, Danny, and Erica were curled up on the couch together. They were waiting for him. Derek was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed and staring at him as if he was waiting for an explanation. They looked like a family and the fact that they seemed to have concern for Stiles made him want to leave even more. It was too much. Too fast. He doesn’t want to replace his family. The morning coffee chats, the lunches, the lounging around together, being able to sit in comfortable silence…it’s too much right now. 

“Stiles—“ Derek begins to say.

Stiles runs past Derek, tripping on a corner of the Persian rug. The book that Erica threw earlier is right in front of his face. He quickly grabs it when Derek hauls him up onto his feet.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the hospitality. I have to go.” He shrugs Derek’s hands off of his shoulders and bolts for the door, the book clutched to his chest. 

As he’s running down the front steps Scott and Allison are walking up. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Stiles!” Scott grabs his bicep. Allison has her hand on her mouth and looks toward the house at the pack piling up under the frame of the front door. She puts her hand up as if to say, “What the hell is happening?”

“Let go, Scott, I just need to be alone right now,” Stiles gasped out, trying to free himself from the Beta’s firm grip. 

“Stiles, if you would just—“ Scott begins to say but is unable to finish his sentence because Stiles is punching him in the face. Derek growls.

Scott moves his hand to his cheek. Stiles knows that the punch didn’t hurt him. He’s more so in shock, probably. Actually, the punch hurt Stiles more than it did Scott, he’s sure of it. 

Allison starts to cry and moves behind Scott. 

Stiles looks between the couple and the pack at the front door and begins to shake. “Oh…God. Jesus. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out and then spins his body to the other direction, running off into the woods.

He doesn’t look back.

 


	6. Tweaked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't abandoned this fic. I just moved and it's been hell- but here's a new chapter!

Stiles was running. He wasn’t quite sure where he would end up or where he wanted to be but the adrenaline running through his veins allowed him to shrug it off. He didn’t care. As long as he was away from Scott, the pack, Derek…it didn't matter. The cool breeze hitting his face was the only thing he wanted to concentrate on. It felt good. His hand was burning from hitting Scott’s face and the cold wind counteracted the hot agony consuming his hand. He would think about something else. Like nature. The nature surrounding him. Yes.

Trees and brush zipped by him as he continued his marathon. The sound of snapping branches beneath his feet calmed him. No one was here but him and nature. It was beautiful. He didn’t think it was possible to experience something so beautiful after going through something so tragic…and then the burning continued. Fuck. He tried. He’s only human, after all.

“Gah,” Stiles gasps, stopping to examine his hand. He trips on a rock before pulling himself up, steading the weight of his body on one knee.

Okay, so it probably wasn’t the best idea to hit a werewolf in the face. He clutched his hand to his stomach and looked down. His hand was red and inflamed, looking twice as large as it should probably be. Great, Stiles thought. Just what he needed. Hasn’t he suffered enough?

Stiles groaned, closing his eyes before turning to see where he ended up. He was standing at the entrance to the dock. The sun was blaring down on him and he wanted nothing more than to block out the annoying light dominating his face. No one was around. Stiles didn’t know if that was comforting or not. He wanted to be stubborn and continue running far away from Beacon Hills but he had to be realistic. Running away from his problems was definitely something his father would not approve of…even though his father did just that.

Walking to the end of the dock, Stiles lowered himself onto the surface, shrugging off his shoes and rolling up his (Derek’s) pants. He dipped his feet into the lake and opened up the book he stole from the Hale house. Erica didn’t seem to like it but Stiles and Erica were two completely different people. Not to say Stiles was better than her or the other way around, but maybe he would enjoy this book of poetry. And it was something to keep his mind off things.

He skimmed through the words of William Wordsworth, John Keats, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and others. It was understandable why it could be too much for people. Stiles got that. But for him, it was intriguing and he could sit here all day reading poem after poem, getting lost in someone’s thoughts about love and heartache. The fact that these legends could write so eloquently and effortlessly made Stiles jealous. They experienced a great love that caused them to take on this creative approach. Stiles wanted that.

The more he read the more he realized that he could not hide from life forever. He needed to head back to Scott’s house and figure this all out. It was doubtful Scott would be home anyway. Stiles was almost certain that he would still be out with Allison and the pack, in complete shock about the the day’s earlier events. The horrendous event Stiles made happen.

Stiles shivered before standing up, putting his shoes back on, and heading off into the direction of the McCall residence.

 

  
***

 

  
Approaching the familiar house, Stiles pauses outside of it, glancing to the driveway where Melissa McCall’s car sat in park. She was home. The thing that sucked most about living with a nurse was that you never knew when they would be home. Their schedules were so all over the place that Stiles could barely keep track when Melissa would grace them with her presence. Yet, with her being home there was also a great chance of her sleeping, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Stiles would take his chances. He’s already been through too much hell today, so he was pretty sure he could at least have this moment of peace while he makes it to Scott’s bedroom.

He creaks open the front door, stepping quietly into the house—

“Stiles?”

Nope. Of course he couldn’t have this.

Stiles bites his lip. “Hey, Melissa.”

Melissa appears from around the corner rushing over to him, her eyes taking him in. She moves to pull him into her arms but pauses halfway and takes a step back. Stiles straightens himself up and places the book onto the entry way table where they keep their car keys.

“Scott called me a while ago…” she starts, arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah. It’s..”

“Honey, I know you’re going through a lot right now, but—Oh my God, what happened to your hand?!” Melissa gasps, one hand over her mouth with the other pointing down to Stiles’ injured hand clutched to his stomach.

Stiles opens his mouth and then shuts it, not sure what to say. He glances down to his hand and then looks away, unable to make eye contact.

“It’s nothing, really. I might need some ice,” he says quietly.

“I think you might need more than just ice, Stiles,” Melissa replies sadly. Stiles didn’t know if she was just addressing his hand or not.

They stand in the entry way for a few moments before Melissa puts her arm around Stiles’ shoulders and leads him into the kitchen, pushing him lightly to a kitchen chair before making her way to the freezer. Stiles obliges and calmly waits for Melissa to grab the ice.

Melissa hands Stiles the small Ziploc of ice and sits across from him, concentrating on his every move. He blinks up at her after placing the cold bag against his hand. It’s a little bit soothing. It’s something.

“I don’t even want to know how this happened to your hand, but I do want to know what’s going on in your head. I understand we haven’t been in the same position as you but we want to help in any way possible. Please, Stiles…” Melissa begs, grabbing onto his good hand.

So, she didn’t know he punched Scott? Scott never told her. Now he just felt even worse. Scott was the best person ever and he goes and punches him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Stiles stares into Melissa’s eyes. She’s waiting for him to answer and he feels awful. She just said she wants to help, but she has been doing just that. In every way possible. Always there for him and not once has he said thank you or acknowledged it. He wants to tell her everything will be okay. He just needs time. But the words don’t come out.

Tears start to form in Melissa’s eyes and she eventually puts her head in her hands. “I hate seeing you like this. Stiles, I love you so much. You’re like my second son. You have to know that.”

Stiles remains silent for a few moments and sucks in a deep breath. He steps up and walks over to Melissa, wrapping his arms around her, careful to keep his injured hand from any unwanted contact. She shifts her body towards him and gives him more access to hold onto her.

“I’ll be okay.”

 

  
***

 

  
After an hour of spending time with Melissa and convincing her that he would eventually be okay, they both agree that he should see a psychiatrist. Melissa knows an excellent doctor who gets great reviews. Stiles wants to protest because he doesn’t know how he feels about talking to a complete stranger who will evaluate him, but one look at Melissa’s miserable face and he agrees. He just wants to make her happy. She calls to make the appointment as Stiles motions to her that he’s heading to the bedroom for the night. She nods her approval and blows him a kiss.

Stiles plucks his book from the entry way table and changes out the bag of ice before starting for the stairs. Each step up the stairs makes Stiles think of his progress toward a new beginning. As much as he did not want to go see the psychiatrist, he figured it's a positive step and it might actually surprise him.

He opens Scott's bedroom door and steps inside. The room was still and the blankets on the bed were left in the same ball of mess as he had left it. He used to always make his bed. It's the little things that have changed in his life the most.

Stiles takes a deep breath and turns to close the door behind him.

"Jesus!" he gasps, dropping the book. Derek Hale is standing next to the door, his arms in the familiar position, crossed in front of his chest. The werewolf raises an eyebrow at him while Stiles tries to steady his breathing.

Derek moves forward and bends down to retrieve the book, handing it over to Stiles. "You had to have known I would be here."

Stiles blinks at the man in confusion before replacing his awestruck face with an angry one. He swipes the book from Derek, his fingers catching the other man's skin.

"What do you mean I should have known? You can't just hang out in people's rooms waiting for them. It's creepy as hell."

Derek shrugs. "It's not your room," he says smoothly before walking over to the beside table to examine Scott's knick knacks and photos.

Stiles has nothing to say to him. Because it isn't his room. Derek is right. So, instead, he decides to sit on the edge of the bed and watch the older man carry on.

The boy coughs, clasping the bag of ice to his hand. "What are you doing here?"

Derek frowns and looks down to Stiles' hand. His gaze lingers for a few moments before he meets Stiles' eyes. "Let me see your hand."

"Uhh, okay? It's not that bad, really. It hurts but it's nothing I haven't felt before. I've been through worse.." Stiles drifts. He stops when Derek grabs his hand, making him wince.

The Alpha brings it up to examine it closely. He gently runs his fingers around the boy's hand, careful not to cause him anymore pain. Stiles looks up at Derek, watching him closely in silence. Derek's eyebrow are furrowed together with complete concentration. His tan skin looks so smooth and Stiles wants nothing more than to run his hands against it. And the beard. The fucking beard. He wants to feel it on his skin. Stiles stops himself from staring much longer and focuses on Derek's grey Henley in front of them. They are so close.

"It's a little tweaked, but I can put it back into place."

Stiles shakes his head and looks up at Derek, bringing himself back to the world. "Uh, what?"

"Your hand. It's tweaked. I'm going to fix it."

The boy jumps up and retrieves his hand from Derek's hold. The werewolf doesn't react just slowly lets his arms fall to his sides, watching Stiles in amusement.

"No, no. That's okay. The ice will do."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Stiles, if I put it back it will heal properly and the pain won't be as bad after." Yeah, after, Stiles thought. He didn't want to feel Derek putting his hand back into place. No, thank you.

Stiles moves to run around Derek, which is pretty hopeless, he knows. But he does it anyway. Large hands grab him around the waist and before he knows it he's being placed back onto Scott's bed. There's no stopping the older man. He just needs to give up.

"Jesus. Fine, do it. But please stop tossing me around like a rag doll."

Derek smirks and sits next to Stiles. "You can grab onto my shoulder as leverage to lessen the pain."

"O-okay," Stiles says intelligently. He gives Derek his bad hand and then grips on tightly to the older man's shoulder with his other, his eyes squeezed shut. Let's just get this over with.

"It will only take a second," Derek whispers. And it does only take a second. But that doesn't mean the pain only lasts a second.

Stiles hears a loud snapping sound and white, hot pain consumes his hand. He grips onto Derek harder and moves his head to fall onto the werewolf's shoulder, his lips pressed down into his skin. He fights the urge to bite down.

He keeps his eyes shut, still riding out the pain. But it does feel a little better, he has to admit.

Hands move to rub his back. "Better?"

Stiles opens his eyes and looks over to the Alpha. "Y-yeah. Yeah. That hurt like hell but it does feel better now. Thanks."

Derek mutters something Stiles can't fully hear and then brings his arms back to his body, his head turned forward. Stiles moves away from the man.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know what happened or why I did it," Stiles whispers to the wall. The bed shifts a little and Stiles waits for Derek to respond.

"Scott's not mad at you."

Stiles turns to look at Derek in the eyes, to see if the man is telling the truth. "But...I punched him in the face?"

Derek shifts his gaze to the bedroom window and sighs. "It's not like you could do any real damage with that, Stiles. You obviously needed to let out some anger. Sure, Scott was surprised. We all were. But he's not mad. None of us are."

"I...I don't know what to say," Stiles says helplessly.

The older man stands and saunters over to the door. "You don't have to say anything. I'm going downstairs to get some gauze." And he's gone, leaving Stiles alone with his thoughts.

Stiles lets out a sigh of frustration once the door clicks shut and kicks his shoes off. He leans against the bed board and brings his knees up to wrap his arms around his body. He needed to talk to Scott himself. Hearing it from Derek wasn't enough. Scott was his best friend and he had to make things right.

He pulled his phone out of the jean pocket and set up a new text message.

  
**To: Scott**

**Sent: 7:37 PM**

**Hey man, I'm so sorry about earlier. I want to make it up to you.**

 

Not even 30 seconds go by before Stiles is already receiving a text back from Scott.

 

**From: Scott**

**Received: 7:37 PM**

**No worries, dude. I'm staying at Alli's tonight. Try to keep out of trouble. Don't punch someone who doesn't love you.**

 

Stiles smiles down at his phone. He kind of wishes Scott would come home tonight. He sends him a thumbs up emoji.

The bedroom door opens and Derek glides in holding a roll of gauze, shutting the door quickly behind him. An unsettling look appears on his perfect face. It almost makes him look ugly. Almost. Actually, not at all. Who was Stiles kidding? It probably somehow makes him look even more attractive. 

"What?" Stiles asks.

Derek pauses and then sits next to Stiles on the bed. "I think I might have frightened Scott's mom."

Stiles lets out a laugh. "No shit, Sherlock. That's why you don't come into people's houses without permission. I'm surprised she didn't call the cops on you."

"I honestly thought she was going to. It's been a while since she's seen me," the older man utters, unraveling the gauze. He nods his head to Stiles' hand.

The boy obliges and reaches his hand out for Derek to take.

The Alpha begins to wrap Stiles' hand slowly and accurately, not leaving an inch of the boy's skin uncovered. 

"You know, you could have gone after you put my hand back into place. You don't have to do this," Stiles says as he watches the man continue his work.

Derek doesn't look up at him, just keeps wrapping. "I don't mind. Besides, I don't plan on leaving you at all tonight."

Stiles stares at Derek's head with his mouth hanging open. He comes to his senses and swallows back some spit. "And why is that?"

The werewolf gets up to grab some scissors and a Sharpie from Scott's desk before returning. He cuts the gauze and pastes it around Stiles' hand, sitting back and studying his work. 

"Do I need an explanation? You're in my pack. I'm taking care of you."

"Uh...no, I guess not?"

Derek catches his gaze and grins. He pops the top of the Sharpie off and lightly grabs Stiles' hand back.

"What are you doing?" the boy asks.

"It needs a little something," Derek replies, and starts drawing on Stiles' gauze-covered hand.

Stiles is not quite sure who this Derek person is. The Derek he knew would never want to draw on someone's cast or gauzed hand. What was he going to leave? A get well soon note? This was just bizarre. 

Derek stands and grabs the gauze, scissors, and Sharpie to put onto the desk. Stiles looks down at his hand and finds a picture of a....dick on his wrap. What in the fuck. There it was with balls, veins, and hair. It was actually a pretty decent drawing, too. Derek was talented. 

"A dick, Derek? Really?" Stiles smiles awkwardly at the Alpha, trying to keep a straight face. He couldn't. He laughed out loud.

The older man looks over his shoulder at Stiles and shrugs. "Yes, Stiles. A dick. Get over it."

Get over it. Stiles stops laughing and blinks. His mind is suddenly consumed from the previous night's events. Images here and there appear in his head and he remembers what Derek said about dicks and them both having them.

What a dick. 

Derek strips down to his boxer briefs and appears at Stiles' side once again. "Move over."

The younger boy stares at Derek's chest and then meets his eyes. "Uh, right. Yeah." He moves to the other side of the bed and pulls his (Derek's) pants down, leaving him in the V-neck and boxers. Derek pulls the covers back and slips in next to Stiles, closing his eyes.

Stiles is...dumbfounded to say the least. Too much has happened for him to process. Derek drew a dick for Christ's sake. And it was funny as hell. When did Derek have a sense of humor? And not just any humor but childish, immature humor?

He moved to turn the light off and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The clock read 9:02 PM. It was so early but it was okay. Stiles was exhausted. He smiled into his pillow, his back facing Derek. And then he realized why Derek drew a picture of a fucking dick on his injured hand. He was trying to make Stiles smile. To laugh again. To really laugh again.

And he did.

 

 


	7. Regretful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I joined the Tumblr train](http://metallicgoldprettiess.tumblr.com)

Stiles woke up feeling very hot. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his shirt was soaked, and a very heavy body was draped over him from behind. He lifted himself up onto his elbow when the arm around him tightened, gripping his body towards its owner. Stiles paused and waited to see if Derek had fallen back to sleep. His eyes shifted to his alarm clock. It was almost two in the morning. This was why Stiles was not a fan of going to bed before midnight. He could never sleep through the night. And having your own personal furnace suffocating you wasn't exactly helping.

He shifted to face Derek, the older man grunted but moved with Stiles as they changed their position. The werewolf blinked his eyes tiredly as he waited for the boy to stop moving, then nudged his face into his bedmate's neck and wrapped his arms around him once more. Stiles had always heard about the other pack members spending the night with their Alpha but he wondered if it was anything like this. This felt like something a little bit more than pack bonding. He lay there in Derek's arms for some time and tried to fall back to sleep but the heat, sweat, and Derek's breath hitting his neck started to make him feel claustrophobic. Air. He needed air.

"Derek," Stiles whispers, nudging the older man softly.

Derek grunts and opens his eyes slightly, finding Stiles' face. He doesn't say anything, but places a hand onto Stiles' cheek lazily to let him know he's listening.

"I'm thirsty. I need water. Do you want some?"

He shrugs and then loosens his grip on Stiles, allowing the boy to get up off the bed and pad over to the door. Stiles looks behind him before he closes the door and can see a pair of red eyes glowing at him.

 

 

***

 

 

As he makes his way down the staircase, Stiles stops to sit on the last step. The hardwood floor cools him off as it makes contact to the bit of thigh escaping his boxers. He sits there for a few moments enjoying the openness and cool air coming from the windows in the living room. Then he remembers what he came down here for. Water. He slowly stands and turns on the hallway light, making his way toward the kitchen. He flips on another light switch, looking around at the kitchen. A half empty coffee mug is next to the sink. Melissa must have already left for her shift. He makes his way over to the sink, taking Melissa's mug to rinse out before placing it into the dishwasher. A note on the kitchen island with STILES written on the top catches his eye. Cautiously walking over he notices the writing to belong to Melissa. Underneath his name is another name of a doctor and a number, with a short message explaining that this belongs to his new psychiatrist. He picks up the note and stares at the name. Dr. Reynolds. His first appointment is tomorrow at noon.

"What are you doing?" a voice calls from the hallway. 

Stiles jumps, crumbling the note in his hand, and turning to face Derek.

"Uh, I was getting water. Remember?"

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. Those damn eyebrows. And body. Of course he didn't bother to put anything on. No, he's just standing there in his boxer briefs looking like a God.

"Okay," Derek says slowly, walking to up to Stiles, leaning forward--

"What--" Stiles begins.

Derek reaches above Stiles and grabs two glasses from the cabinet above his head and makes his way over to the fridge.  Stiles glares at the man's back and his stupid triskelion tattoo. 

He watches the werewolf gather ice and pour water into their glasses and feels a little pathetic. He can do this on his own. He doesn't need people taking care of him all the damn time. Stiles literally cannot leave a bedroom for twenty goddamn minutes before--

Derek places a glass of water into Stiles' good hand.

"Thanks," Stiles grumbles into the cup and then takes a sip. It's delicious. He doesn't know if water could ever be described as delicious. But right now it is. He gulps it down within seconds and before he can make a move to get some more, Derek is already grabbing the glass from him and refilling it. 

The Alpha steps back, leaning on the kitchen island, studying the boy as he finishes his second glass of water.

“So,” Stiles begins as he walks over to deposit his glass into the dishwasher. “I guess we can head back upstairs?”

Derek nods and gestures for Stiles to lead the way. Stiles walks up the stairs and down the hall to Scott’s bedroom aware of Derek’s eyes fixed on the back of his head. It’s a little uncomfortable to say the least. When they reach the bedroom, Stiles awkwardly moves to the bed and sits.

“You should take your shirt off,” Derek says, sliding into the bed.

Stiles looks down at his shirt and sees the sweat stains covering it. It is logical that he should take it off. It’s a hot night and sharing the bed with Derek makes it even more hot. Figuratively and literally.

“Yeah. That’s…yeah.” Stiles replies, standing to shrug out of his shirt before throwing it down onto the floor. He turns to get into bed but stops. Derek is looking at him with concern, his eyes roaming his body.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“You’re getting really skinny, Stiles,” Derek says quietly, sitting up to lean against the bed board. “When did you last eat?”

Stiles reddens and looks down at the floor. “It’s not like that. I just sometimes forget to eat. That and I don’t really have the appetite lately.”

“You need to keep your energy up,” Derek says. “Not eating adds to your stress.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. “And you know this how?” His eyes wander down Derek’s perfectly healthy body.

“Cora.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s a pretty well-known fact.”

“Uh huh.”

Derek grins. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll have a nice balanced breakfast in the morning.”

Stiles nods slowly before making his way into bed beside Derek. It was weird knowing that Cora had an eating disorder. Maybe Stiles wasn’t the only one in their circle of friends and family who was suffering from mental disorders. That makes him sad. He doesn’t want anyone else to feel this way.

Derek’s arms wrap around him, stroking over his now bare, pale skin. The werewolf’s fingers begin tracing over his moles and freckles that are easy to spot on his pale skin with the moonlight shining down on them. It feels good at first but then it becomes irritating.

“Stop,” Stiles smacks Derek’s hand. The Alpha reluctantly stops and instead, lightly grips onto the boy’s hip, letting out a small laugh.

 

***

 

Stiles wakes once more with a werewolf slumped over him. He moves up to stretch, much to Derek's annoyance, and turns to find two new werewolves in the bedroom.

"What the FUCK," Stiles squirms out of Derek's hold, pulling up the blankets to cover his bare chest, and looks at Lydia and Jackson with fear. Derek looks up at Stiles and then closes his eyes, returning to his slumber. Jerk.

Lydia is sitting on the office chair, legs crossed and a look of amusement on her face. Jackson is next to her, leaning on the desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Finally," Lydia sighs dramatically before standing. She walks over to the bed and sits next to Stiles. "Hi."

"Hi, Lydia. Jackson," Stiles nods to the brooding wolf across the room. 

"Stiles," Jackson replies.

There's silence. Lydia looks between Stiles and Jackson before she waves her arms up in the air. "Okay, let's get this over with. We've been here for an hour."

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Lydia and then turns to Derek, poking him in the stomach.

Derek grunts.

"Hey! You knew they were here for an entire hour and you didn't bother waking me?"

The Alpha sighs, realizing his desire to sleep in is not going to happen today. "Yes."

"Look, Stiles, we came here to apologize," Lydia continues. "It wasn't exactly our greatest moment." She gestures at Jackson, widening her eyes at him.

Jackson blinks at Lydia and then turns his attention to Stiles. "Yes, it was very wrong of us."

Stiles snorts. "Nice one, Jackson." Jackson just shrugs. 

Lydia rolls her eyes and then gives Stiles a hug before heading for the door. Derek moves to get up, pulls a pair of jeans on, and follows Lydia down the hall. 

Stiles stares at the doorway. 

Jackson coughs, making his way over to Stiles to place a hand on his shoulder. "See you later, man."

The boy blinks up at Jackson and nods. 

He needs a shower.

 

***

 

Stiles comes downstairs to the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower. He's found some clean clothes in his duffle bag, no longer having to wear baggy jeans and V-necks belonging to a certain Alpha. Instead, he's sporting fitted jeans and his favorite plaid shirt. Converse making an appearance, as always.

He walks into the kitchen and it smells amazing. Derek is setting the table. It's a beautiful display. Waffles, toast, eggs, and fruit are spread out on different plates, giving them options. 

"You're still here," Stiles addresses him.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him and sits down at the table. "I told you we would be having a nice balanced breakfast this morning."

"I know. I just thought you left with Lydia or something."

"No. She did stay while you showered to help with breakfast, though."

"Ah." 

'"Lydia...has different ways of apologizing," Derek begins.

"No, this is great. I like it. Her apology was fine."

The older man nods and fills up his plate. Stiles stares at the display in front of him and finds himself gathering two waffles, a bit of egg, and some strawberries. He takes a bite of the waffle, making sure to get a few strawberries in the bite.

"Oh my God," Stiles moans. 

Derek looks up from his plate at the boy and smirks.

"This is so good," Stiles says. "I can't remember the last time I had waffles."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Derek replies.

Stiles smiles up at him. "You want some orange juice? I'm craving orange juice." He starts for the fridge, grabbing two glasses on his way.

Derek laughs. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Good." 

Stiles pours the orange juice into the glasses and then glances over at the microwave. The clock reads 11:30. Shit. He had to be across town in thirty minutes. He shoves the orange juice container in the fridge and strides over to the table, handing Derek a glass, and quickly taking a gulp out of his own.

"You're right, you were craving orange juice," Derek says staring at Stiles' mouth. Orange juice was dripping down Stiles' chin. 

The boy wipes his mouth and puts the glass down on the table. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Please don't bother cleaning up. I'll do it later. Thank you so much for breakfast. And last night. My hand." Stiles runs towards the door and halts to a stop. He glances over his shoulder and Derek is staring at him, perplexed. 

Fuck it.

Stiles runs back over to Derek and grabs his face, pulling it to his. Their lips brush and Derek responds instantly, deepening the kiss with more experienced skill. His tongue barely enters Stiles' mouth before the boy pulls back and shakily walks backwards towards the door, his eyes never leaving Derek's before he's running out of the house.

He makes it to his Jeep and realizes he forgot his keys.

"Seriously?!" he gasps. 

He turns around and finds Derek at the front door, with Stiles' keys in his hands. The boy blinks and shyly walks over, grabbing the keys from Derek. "Uh, thanks. See you later?"

The werewolf nods and watches Stiles scramble to the Jeep before speeding out of sight.

 

***

 

What was he thinking? Stiles glares at his reflection in the front mirror of his car. This was so wrong on so many levels. He shouldn't be trying to get involved with anyone right now. He's not ready. What was Derek thinking? Did he just respond to the kiss because he felt bad for Stiles? No one that looks like Derek Hale would ever be interested in a teenage spaz like Stiles. No one. 

Stiles takes the next right and drives into a large parking lot surrounded by four large, white buildings. He parks in the last row, farthest from the buildings because he doesn't trust anyone parking next to his baby. And he could probably use some exercise. All he does is spend time indoors it seems. 

He pulls out his crumbled paper from his pocket and reviews the info Melissa wrote down for him. Building 1301. Suite 407. 

It's 12:01 when Stiles reaches the office. The waiting room looks like it belongs in the 80's, complete with faded blue carpet, white oak chairs donning bold designs, and there's a corner in the room dedicated to children's toys and books. No one is occupying the seats. Stiles feels a rush of anxiety hit him.

"Sir?" a middle-aged woman behind a desk is to the right of him. Her hair is bushy with big curls making her resemble Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries. Except her hair is the color blonde. 

"Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. Reynolds."

"Name?"

"Stiles." That gives him a raised eyebrow.

"Last name, sir?"

"Stilinski."

The woman, Mary, her name tag reads, begins typing furiously at the keyboard of her computer and then smiles up at Stiles.

"I will let Dr. Reynolds know you have arrived. Please take a seat."

"Thanks," Stiles replies, taking a seat farthest away from the front desk, next to the children's toys and books. He stares at the different books and finds the names of familiar authors he loved as a kid. He leans down and plucks one from the lime green, Ikea bookcase. He flips through _Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day_ by Judith Viorst. It's funny how children's books can be even more enjoyable when you're older. When he's on the second to last page, a door to Dr. Reynolds' office opens and a teenage girl, probably around Stiles' age, appears. She looks miserable. Her eyes meet Stiles' for a second before she's walking faster, waves at Mary, and leaps out the door. 

Great.

"Mr. Stilinski, the doctor will see you now."

Stiles' stomach drops. He gets up, puts the book back into the bookcase and wipes his hands on his jeans, which are now clammy. His heart starts to thump fast and he looks at Mary helplessly as he walks past her.

Mary smiles at him and nods her head.

He turns the door nob to Dr. Reynolds' office and walks inside.


	8. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter for me to write, honestly. Buuuuut, here ya go!

Dr. Reynolds is sitting at her desk, jotting down notes (probably from her session with the teenage girl before) with her lips pursed in wonder. Stiles awkwardly stands across from her, hands in his pockets. Okay, he could do this. He doesn't like talking, either. Maybe they could just sit in silence for an hour or stare at each other and she could somehow telepathically tell him what he needs to do with his life. That would be awesome.

"Mr. Stilinski, please make yourself comfortable," Dr. Reynolds says without looking up. Stiles jumps.

"Um, I go by Stiles."

Dr. Reynolds looks up warmly at him before putting her notes away to replace with a fresh, new binder just for Stiles. Stiles stares at the binder with caution and wonders what she will write about him.

"Stiles, please take a seat." She stands and then walks across the room to close the door. She's probably in her forties. Her hair is blonde and curly, almost resembling her personal assistant Mary, except hers is more tame. She looks very professional in her grey pencil skirt, white blouse, and black pumps, not to mention her Alex Vause glasses she's donning. Which reminded Stiles, he needed to finish season two of Orange is the New Black...

"Or, you're more than welcome to stand if you want. Whatever makes you most comfortable," Dr. Reynolds states, looking at Stiles over her shoulder as she walks back to her desk.

"Oh, sorry. I was spacing out. No, I'll sit. Thanks," Stiles utters. He picks the lounge chair to the right of the desk and slowly lowers his body. 

"Do you always space out?" Dr. Reynolds asks.

Shit. Was this a test?

""Sometimes." Stiles is uncomfortable and nothing else seems as interesting as his fingers in his lap right now.

The doctor nods her head and leans back into her chair, looking Stiles over. She seems to notice his distress because she leans forward and places her hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up.

"Stiles, this is a safe space. We're just here to talk. You don't need to think too much about your answers," she says softly, taking her hand back and beaming at him.

Stiles smiles shyly.

"Let's take baby steps," she suggests.

"Okay."

"My name is Dr. Reynolds but you may call me Elizabeth." She sits back in her chair and waves her arm. "Actually, I prefer going by my first name as well. It's much more informal. And as much as it seems like this is a professional setting, my best interest is you and I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Stiles nods and shifts his eyes to her bookcase, which is complete with a rolling ladder. Stiles has always wanted a bookcase with a rolling ladder.

She asks him basic question about his life- where he's from, what school he goes to, his interests and goals. It's easy at first. He tells her, avoiding eye contact. His focus remains on the bookcase. Shit. This is rude of him.

"How has your day been so far, Stiles?"

He brings his gaze back to Dr. Rey--Elizabeth.

"It has been okay," he shrugs. "My friend spent the night last night and we had breakfast this morning before I got here." He starts playing at the gauze covering his bad hand.

"That's great. It's good to surround yourself with the people you care about the most during a difficult time like this."

Stiles nods because that's the only thing he can really do right now. He's played it in his head many times before coming here about what he would say, how he would say it. But now all the confidence is gone. This is a lot harder than he thought it would be. 

"So this friend of yours, are they your best friend?" she asks.

Stiles blinks. "Not exactly. I don't know. Maybe. We have been hanging out a lot lately. Scott's my best friend, though."

Elizabeth nods her understanding. "Where's Scott?"

"Probably with his girlfriend Allison. They are inseparable."

"I see. Does that upset you?"

"What? No. No, not at all. They're great and they have really been there for me. I've just been spending more time with Derek," Stiles says.

"Who's Derek?"

"My friend."

"The one that spent the night last night?" She readjusts her glasses.

"Yes," Stiles whispers, uncertain. But she just smiles at him and says nothing more about it, which Stiles is incredibly grateful for. 

"How are you keeping up with school?"

"Uh, I'm going back tomorrow. Don't know how I feel about it," Stiles says honestly.

"And why's that?"

He bites his lip and looks out the window. The sky is dark. "I don't know. I guess I don't want to be treated differently. I went to a party not long after it happened. Some people looked at me strange. I don't want that to happen again."

Elizabeth nods, waiting for him to continue.

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be writing stuff down?"

She laughs. It's gentle. "That's not how I do this, Stiles. I just want to hear what you have to say and I collect my thoughts about it later when you've left."

"Oh."

"That's completely normal for you to be uncomfortable seeing people after an event like this. You aren't alone. My best advice for you is to shrug it off. People deal with these situations differently. You may have friends who want to be with you 24/7 and others who want to avoid you completely. We can't take it the wrong way. It's best to just know that they might not know how to deal with it, either."

Stiles takes it in but doesn't say anything. Just stares at the floor and lets her continue.

"May we talk about _it_?" she asks him carefully. Her eyes are narrowed. 

This was the moment Stiles was dreading. He knew he had to talk about _it_ , but it never seems to be the right time. He guesses there will never be a right time, though.

"Sure," he replies.

"How long has it been?"

"About three weeks."

Elizabeth crosses her legs and places her hands in her lap. "What's the first thing going through your mind right now?"

"Guilt." The word leaves Stiles' mouth fast. 

"Stiles, why would you feel guilty?" Elizabeth asks with concern.

That is the magic question. 

"I...I was too involved in my friends. Other things..." Stiles chokes out. Tears are starting to form in his eyes, making his vision blurry.

A tissue is placed into his good hand.

"He was depressed. I kind of knew. The drinking...it was obviously depression. And I didn't do much about it," Stiles manages to say.

There's a moment of silence. He doesn't know if Elizabeth is judging him or if she's waiting for him to continue. So he just continues.

"I'd get so angry at him sometimes. The drinking was too much. It was hard seeing him that way. Frustrating."

"Stiles, honey. Do not believe your father's death is your fault. Because it's not."

Stiles chokes out a sob, taking his head into his hands, adding pressure to the sides of his head. 

Elizabeth is rubbing his back. "We can stop today if you'd like, Stiles."

That makes him cry harder but he manages to nod. 

"Why don't you go to the restroom and splash some water on your face. That always helps." 

Stiles looks up at her. She's smiling sadly at him. Her hand is still on his back.

The crying eventually fades before Stiles pulls himself up and heads for the restroom to the left of Elizabeth's office. He closes the door behind him and stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are red and puffy. He looks like shit. This is becoming too much of a cycle. The embarrassment consuming him is too much and he just wants to go home. 

He splashes the water on his face and cracks his neck from side to side. Taking a deep breath, he dries his face off and heads back out into the office. Elizabeth is sitting at her desk writing. Great, Stiles thinks. She probably thinks he's crazy.

Elizabeth rips off a piece of paper and walks over to Stiles, handing it to him. He looks down and sees that it is a prescription. He's getting drugs.

"This is to help stop you from thinking too much. I think it will be a good step."

Stiles nods, folds the paper, and puts it into his pocket. He meets Elizabeth's gaze and waits.

"Is there someone you can call to come pick you up? I don't think you should probably be driving home today, Stiles," she tells him.

Stiles gives her a small smile. "I'm fine."

She cocks her head to the side. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Well then, Stiles, I'd like to see you a week from today. Same time. How does that sound?"

"Sounds...good." 

"Good."

They shake hands and Stiles walks out of the office. Mary greets him with a wink as he walks past her. Honestly now. Why does everyone wink at him?

 

***

 

When Stiles reaches the McCall house an hour later after picking up his prescription, Scott's motorcycle is in the driveway. He walks inside to find Scott and Allison lounging in the living room watching Netflix. Scott turns his head to Stiles while stroking Allison's shoulder. Allison is smiling at him.

"Hey, man," Scott says. Allison gives him a little wave.

Stiles looks slowly between Scott and Allison and shifts his eyes towards the kitchen. "Where's Derek?"

Scott frowns at him for a moment and then shrugs. "I don't know. Was he supposed to be here or something?" Allison lays her head on Scott's shoulder, returning her attention to the TV. 

Stiles swallows. "No. No, I guess not. I was just wondering."

Scott nods in understanding but still has a curious expression on his face, like he doesn't believe him. 

Stiles walks around to join them, sitting on the other side of Allison. She puts her feet on Stiles' lap without looking away from the TV. Orange is the New Black is playing. It keeps the three of them distracted for several minutes. They don't have to say anything and it's good. Comfortable silence apart from the occasional giggle here and there that fills the room.

"Wait," Scott suddenly says.

Allison and Stiles lazily turn to look at him.

Scott nods his head over to Stiles. "Where were you today? I figured you were with Derek."

"Oh," Stiles begins. Shit. "I just had to do a few errands. The house just sold so I had to do a few things."

Scott just stares at him, eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"You're lying."

Now Allison's attention is on Stiles, clearly amused. 

Stiles isn't lying exactly. His old house _did_ sale recently. He just didn't do any errands today. And now he's thinking of his old house and his stomach sinks. He didn't even get to give a proper goodbye. And now some family is occupying the home. A real family. A father. A _mother._ A few kids. At least that's what the agent was telling him. Probably wanted Stiles to know that it was in good hands, so he would feel better about it. But really it just makes him more melancholy. At least he thinks that's why he's feeling melancholy.

Allison doesn't have werewolf senses but she can still tell when her friend is under distress. She nudges Scott's shoulder. "Let it go."

Scott nudges her back. They both giggle. Stiles swears they are children.

 

***

 

After a few beers and few more episodes of Orange is the New Black, Stiles makes his way upstairs with his prescription bag in hand. Scott is heading over to Allison's for the night again. Well, sneaking in. Stiles gets the bed to himself. He kind of wishes Scott would stay.

He grabs some boxers and sweatpants from the bedroom and heads for the bathroom. Stiles takes the prescription bottle out of the bag and places it onto the countertop next to the sink. It reads "Escitalopram (Lexapro)" in bold, black text. He strips out of the day's clothes, turns the shower on, and then faces back to stare at the bottle. He's not one to be unfamiliar with drugs. Hell, he's sure he's had more prescriptions than anyone he knows. Yet, he's starting to feel nervous. 

Whatever.

Stiles swipes the bottle, twists the cap, and tips it over his good hand. A round, white pill meets his palm. Giving it one more look, he pops the pill into his mouth and steps into the shower.

He opens his mouth to take some water in and swallows the pill down. The water from the faucet hits his throat as he swallows and it's a weird sensation. It feels nice, though. He runs his hands through his hair before scrubbing shampoo in. Eucalyptus scents the small room and Stiles inhales. He thinks about his day and whether or not if he really will see Elizabeth next week. It's going to be hard to face her. Crying in front of people is something he really hates. The vulnerability, the judgment, the weakness...it's not his thing. And then there's the whole Derek situation, too. He _kissed_ Derek. And Derek kissed him back.

Stiles brings his fingers up to run across his lips. Derek made the impression that he would be seeing him later today. It's night and he's nowhere. Maybe Stiles was right and Derek did only kiss him back in sympathy. 

He shivers. The water has run cold. How long has he been in here for?

Water from the bathtub faucet shoots at his feet when he turns the shower off. He jumps. 

Stepping out of the tub, he quickly dries off trying to escape the now chilly air and slips on his boxers and sweatpants.

A wave of calmness consumes him and nothing seems to matter at this moment. He starts to towel off his short hair but only manages to put the cloth to it once before shutting the light off and moving to the bedroom. It's how he left it. The bed is welcoming. 

Stiles turns the light off and slips into bed. The pillow is so fluffy and he's so content. His eyes start to flutter.

And then he hears the bedroom window open.

But it's okay. He doesn't really care anymore.

He slowly opens his eyes and Derek is towering over him with a pained expression on his face.

Stiles reaches for him. "Derek. Hey."

"Hey," Derek replies softly.

The werewolf strips down to his boxer briefs and slips inside next to Stiles. They lie there side by side, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the ceiling. Stiles wants to stay up and talk to him but his need for sleep seems more important right now. He doesn't even feel all that embarrassed about earlier. They can deal with it tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

"You smell different," Derek says to the ceiling. 

Stiles stares up at ceiling with him. 

"Yeah."

Stiles falls asleep to Derek playing with the strings hanging off his gauzed hand.

 

 


	9. Silver Lining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in a coffee shop after consuming 3 cups of coffee and looking for jobs. I was a little jittery. But hey! Another chapter has finally been posted.
> 
> [You can find me on Tumblr!](http://metallicgoldprettiess.tumblr.com)

Stiles awakens to the sound of someone snoring in his ear. It tickles, not to mention that it's incredibly annoying. He scratches at his ear and whacks his hand back to slap the owner making the horrific sound. His bedmate lets out a loud snort and the bed bounces. There's a thud and Stiles knows they have landed on the floor.

"Stiles! What the fuck?!" the voice groans, half-asleep. Stiles slowly turns onto his back and props himself onto his elbows, blinking down at the floor. Scott is sprawled on the floor, wearing the same outfit Stiles last saw him in. He appears to be just as confused as Stiles.

"Scott? When did you get here?"

Scott glares up at him and rubs at his arms. "Early this morning."

Stiles slowly nods, a little disappointed. What happened to Derek?

"You know..." Scott begins. "This is my room. I can be here whenever I want."

"Yeah," Stiles says before shaking his head. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I've just been used to you staying at Alli's."

"There's only so many nights I can stay there before her parents catch us," Scott smirks, standing up to brush off his jeans.

"Yeah, I mean, I was just surprised you were here, that's all."

The young werewolf pauses from brushing random hairs off of his jeans and quirks an eyebrow at Stiles. "Uh huh," he says, and makes his way to the bed to sit. Stiles looks away toward the desk, suddenly fascinated by Scott's random collection of coffee mugs sitting on the top shelf. Stiles never understood Scott's love for coffee mugs. Whenever he would go to thrift stores he would pick up a new mug to add to his collection. A grey one with Mexican bean people holding hands catches his attention. This one is by far the weirdest.

Stiles nods toward the shelf. "New mug?"

Scott's suspicion fades as he catches what Stiles is nodding at, his face now beaming proudly. He walks over to the shelf and swipes it, holding it up to stare at it fondly. "Oh, yeah. This one is a winner. I think I might give it to Alli."

"How romantic," Stiles says dryly. 

Scott grabs a pencil from his desk and flings it at Stiles.

Stiles brings the duvet up to his face in defense. "Dude! You could have poked my eye out!"

Scott shrugs and puts his mug back on the shelf. "No one disses my mugs. And calm down, it's a brand new pencil. Not even sharpened yet."

That makes Stiles smile and he can't really say anything to that, so he lays back onto the bed and stretches lazily. The bed dips next to him and Scott has joined him. Stiles thinks they will soon find sleep again. Maybe get a few minutes in before he has to face reality and go back to school. He really doesn't want to face--

"Boys!" Melissa flings the bedroom door open. Stiles gets kneed in the back by Scott, while Scott once again falls off of the bed.

"Jesus!" Stiles moans, rubbing at his lower back. 

Melissa raises an eyebrow at them and mutters something about not even asking. "Get dressed or you're not having breakfast before school. You're going to be late!" 

She leaves them stumbling around the room, gathering their clothes and backpacks together. 

 

***

 

The drive to school is silent. Stiles grips the steering wheel of his Jeep and looks at Scott from the corner of his eye. He's staring out the window while drumming his fingers on the dash, humming a song Stiles can't name. Never has there been awkward silence between the two of them, but today seems different. 

"Why didn't you take your motorcycle?" Stiles murmurs, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

Scott stops drumming his fingers and looks over to Stiles, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, man. It's your first day back. Thought I would drive with you. Besides, I've missed the Jeep," Scott grins.

That works. The Jeep is pretty cool.

 

***

 

Once Stiles pulls into the school parking lot, people are already staring at him. He climbs out of the Jeep and swings his backpack over his shoulder. Familiar classmates are whispering to each other with a hand cupping their mouth. Emma smiles at him from afar and Stiles gives her a little nod of recognition. He forgot about her house party. It was the first night he got out after...everything. 

A hand grips his shoulder. Scott is next to him and giving him an encouraging smile. Stiles smiles back and they walk up to their group, Scott's hand never leaving his shoulder.

Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac are sitting together on the grass under the big oak tree. Erica is lying next to them, picking at her finger nails, probably trying to get the nail polish off. She lazily sits up when she senses them getting close. Stiles stares at her bare midriff. Her belly button is pierced. When did that happen? 

"Hello, stranger," she drawls at Stiles. Her long, blonde curls flow majestically in the wind, making her look even more like a model. Stiles didn't think that was possible. He's a little jealous.

Stiles throws his backpack down onto the grass and takes a seat next to her before gesturing to her belly. "New metal?"

Erica smirks and tilts her head up to the sky as if there's an invisible spotlight shining down on her. "Oh yes. Thanks for noticing."

"How...how is that even possible?"

"It's not. I have to keep puncturing it through my skin."

Stiles cringes. He's never been one for blood. This was just morbid. "That's disgusting, Erica."

The female werewolf slings a leather-covered arm around his neck and pulls him close. "Beauty is pain, my friend." She kisses his cheek.

The boy shrugs her off of him and Erica frowns.

"What, you want a piece of this?" Stiles waggles his eyebrows at her. But she ignores his comment.

"You smell like Scott AND Derek." She turns to Scott with disappointment. "Did you boys have a sleepover without me?"

Scott shrugs. "Erica, it _is_ my bed. I can sleep there whenever I want." The werewolf then turns to Stiles and speaks softly, "Didn't know Derek was there before me, though. Figured his smell was still on you from the other day. You haven't exactly been showering like a normal person."

Stiles throws his backpack at Scott. Scott dodges it and hides behind Allison.

"Gee, my knight in shining armor," Allison says sarcastically. Scott beams from behind her before wrapping his arms around her middle, giving her a loud kiss on the cheek. 

"Stop! Seriously. Stop. I'm going to vomit. Let's go, Jackson," Lydia says before squeezing a hand on Stiles' shoulder as she passes him. Jackson nods at Stiles and follows Lydia. Stiles stares at them walking away towards the main building, imagining Jackson with a tail between his legs as he walks behind Lydia in shame. He laughs.

"What's so funny?" Isaac asks. The young werewolf is looking over an assignment, his eyes never leaving the piece of paper.

"Nothing. It's just..it's nice to be back," Stiles says, looking around the campus. Greenberg is currently being lectured by Coach Finstock outside of the school's office. Something about how he shouldn't even bother coming to school today. Emma and the popular girls are chatting loudly in their regular, obnoxious voices, probably planning their next party. Danny is on the field with the other lacrosse teammates talking about their upcoming game on Friday. Stiles eventually comes back to his own group of friends to find Scott and Allison smiling a him. Isaac is still looking over his paper, muttering to himself.

The bell rings.

"You ready?" Allison asks, tilting her head to the side. Scott is rubbing her shoulders. 

Stiles stares at her for a few moments. He really doesn't want to go inside. He'd much rather stay out here with his friends, under the big oak tree surrounded by nature. But he also knows that he cannot always get what he wants. Life isn't like that. Clearly.

"Yeah, let's go."

***

 

Stiles takes back what he said. It's not good to be back. It's something to do about being closed in by walls. The classroom seem smaller than he remembers. He wants to be outside with his friends. Their English teacher, Miss Dobyns is having them read quietly and answer a few questions after they're done on a piece of scratch paper. He stares at the words on the pages of the book. What book are they even reading again? He feels like he just drank three cups of coffee but he can't concentrate. His Adderall. He forgot his Adderall. And his Lexapro. Shit. it's too quiet. He looks around the room. Lydia is twirling her hair around her finger as she uses her other hand to write in her notebook. Of course she's already done. He continues to look around the room and sees that majority of the classroom is writing as well. Stiles begins to sweat. How long had he been staring down at the book?

"Alright, that should have been enough time. Let's get started!" Miss Dobyns announces.

Stiles freezes. Fuck. He had nothing done.

"There are several important symbols throughout _The Great Gatsby,_ " Miss Dobyns starts. "Let's go around the room and hear what you guys found so far."

There's a pause. A few kids have raised their hands, including Lydia.

"Let's see...," Miss Dobyns says as she scans the room. She stops on Stiles. "Mr. Stilinski. It's so good to have you back. Why don't you start us off. What symbols have you found?"

Stiles stares at her, completely numb. He's read _The Great Gatsby_ more times than he can count. It's a classic. Symbols? There's a ton. Stiles knows all of them. He wants to list them. Wants to share what he knows. But he's stuck. He can't even think of one. Not one. 

A few minutes have passed and it's awkward. The entire class is staring at him dumbfounded. Stiles Stilinski has nothing to say?

Miss Dobyns ends the uncomfortable silence by turning to Lydia, whose hand is still raised. She's looking over at Stiles in concern.

"Miss Martin?"

Stiles stands and grabs his backpack, leaving his book on the desk. He bolts for the door as Lydia begins to answer, "Well, the colors throughout the novel are a great way to start..."

 

***

 

Stiles sits in a bathroom stall until lunch. He listens to the conversations of a few boys here and there that enter the bathroom to take a piss. They all seem happy and normal and not like their whole life has been taken from them. 

 

***

 

Lunch with the pack is not much different than their morning meet-up. Lydia and Jackson make rude remarks about Scott. Isaac sits quietly and works on homework, occasionally joining in the pack's discussion when he has something important to say. Erica takes her leather jacket off and tries to sunbathe in her crop top. She doesn't get too far when one of the female teacher's spots her and tells her to get some clothes on and cover her belly button ring. Allison eats her lunch next to Stiles talking to Danny about their upcoming History project. Stiles looks over at Lydia to make eye-contact with her. She hasn't said anything about their English class earlier this morning. He figured she would have said something by now, but once she meets his eye-contact she just gives him a small smile and then turns her attention back to Jackson.

The rest of the day after lunch is the same. He doesn't speak much in class. If he's called on, he says, "I don't know." And that's that. This is his life now. 

 

***

 

Stiles is pissed. He doesn't know why. Sure. today was awkward as hell and his social anxiety got the best of him, but he was completely enraged. Not wanting to cause too much attention, he speed-walked to his Jeep and threw his backpack in the back seat before getting into the driver seat, turning the car on.

"Stiles!" Scott yells. The werewolf is jogging to the Jeep, waving his arms at him.

Stiles waits until Scott reaches the Jeep, resting his arms on the window sill of the passenger door. "Dude, what are you doing?"

Stiles sighs, "Can you get a ride from Allison today? I just need to be alone right now."

Scott takes his arms off of the window sill and nods slowly. "Yeah, okay."

Stiles nods and puts the car in reverse, waiting for Scott to move away.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm here, man."

They share one last look before Scott moves away and lets Stiles drive through the parking lot and away from the school.

 

***

 

Stiles doesn't even know where he's going until he has reached the Hale's cabin in the woods. Derek is standing outside on the porch with his arms crossed, waiting for Stiles to get out of the car.

The boy leaps out of the Jeep and slams the door behind him. He strides up to Derek with a finger pointed at the older man.

"What games are you playing at?" Stiles yells, stopping in front of Derek with his finger jabbing into the werewolf's chest.

Derek stares at him in shock. He lowers his arms to his sides and just studies the younger boy. Stiles can tell the man's head is currently swarmed with a million thoughts but he wants to know one of them. Just one of them.

"I _said_ what games are you playing at?" Stiles repeats, breathing fast. He has never felt so angry before in his life.

Derek blinks, obviously trying to adjust to this new Stiles. "I...what do you mean?"

Stiles cries out and smacks his hand hard against Derek's chest, making the werewolf take a step back. 

"I like you! I really like you. Like, like, like you. The real deal. And you're playing with my head. You give me things and then you take them back. You disappear all the fucking time. What. Are. You. Doing?" There. Stiles said it. He thinks he might regret it. But holy fucking hell, he really doesn't give a damn right now.

The older man continues to stare for a few moments before he steps forward and places both hands on either side Stile's head and brings him in for hungry kiss. 

Stiles whines and protests but then he gives up and sinks into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck. He jumps up and Derek takes the younger boy's legs, wrapping them around his waist. Derek carries Stiles inside to the living room, his hands gripping onto the boy's ass as he sits them onto the couch, their lips never leaving contact. Stiles hands roam over Derek's chest and arms, exploring every part of Derek's upper body. This is a dream, Stiles is sure of it. There is no way this is happening. Sure, they have kissed before. But that was a sympathy kiss. Maybe Stiles' self-conscious is dreaming that it was a real kiss with real meaning behind it. He wasn't just some sad victim of--

"Stiles," Derek says hoarsely, running his hands through Stiles' hair and moving down to mouth at his neck.

"W-what?"

"I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea."

Stiles pauses and looks down at Derek. "You have?"

The older man nods and runs a hand up Stiles' arm. 

"Me too," Stiles whispers and leans down to meet Derek's lips once more. He has never gotten this far with anyone before. This is completely new. He wants to explore. Grinding down onto Derek, the werewolf groans and flings his head back on the couch cushions, moving his hands to Stiles' waist. 

Stiles smiles. This isn't so hard. He's angry and sad and hungry for this. He wants more. Much more. The boy moves up to kiss Derek's mouth and then sucks down his neck, nipping at the flesh sneaking out from the man's V-neck. Derek moves to grip Stiles' ass again. Stiles sits up, his legs on either side of the werewolf and meets his eyes. They are glowing blue. Stiles smiles at Derek shyly before moving his hands down to Derek's crotch, making a move for the man's zipper.

Strong hands grab his own and Stiles stops, glancing up. Derek is looking at him with concern. 

"Is something wrong? I know I'm not very experienced but-"

Derek pecks him on the lips. "You're wonderful, don't say that."

Stiles blushes and then shoves himself off of Derek, now sitting next to him. "Well, what's wrong?"

The werewolf reaches over and grabs Stiles' hand. "Stiles, I like you a lot, too. But I think we should take this slow."

The boy slowing turns his head to Derek and glares. "What?"

"You're not ready for something like this, " Derek runs a hand through his own hair. "Hell, _I'm_ not ready for something like this."

"What the hell do you-" Stiles begins to wail.

Derek stops him, "No, I want to be with you. I will be with you. I just don't want to go too far right now."

Stiles pauses for a moment and then says quietly, "It's my body. I know when I'm ready. Who are you to tell me I'm not ready?"

Derek sighs. Stiles knows he's sounding childish but he can't help it. He _wants_ this.

"I'm not ready, okay? I want to take things slow. You've been through a lot. I don't want to be another factor in your depression."

Stiles waits to see if Derek has more to say. When it's quiet, Stiles begins, "You could never-"

But Derek doesn't let him continue. Stiles is pretty sure this is the most Derek has ever talked.

"Stiles, we need to do this the right way. You're fragile right now. We're taking this slow. Okay?"

The boy stays still and stares down at the Persian rug on the floor. He shuffles his feet together a few times before sighing and meeting Derek's eyes.

"Okay."

The werewolf grins at him and pulls the boy into a hug, running his fingers through his short hair. He whispers into Stiles' ear, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Stiles sits up and sighs. He'd much rather be getting his sex on but cuddling and watching a movie sounds nice, too. 

"Fine," Stiles crosses his arms.

Derek laughs and grabs the TV remote to turn Netflix on.

Stiles studies the werewolf's face as he flips through different TV shows and movies on Netflix, trying to find a winner. And just like that, Stiles' life has shifted. He has a boyfriend now. A big, scruffy werewolf boyfriend. Things were looking up. A little.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...own that mug. I gave Scott my weird addiction to coffee mugs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I am writing for my own form of therapy, but maybe you will enjoy it. I plan on making it a long fic despite it being my first.
> 
> Also, the title comes from Lauren Hoffman's song "Broken."
> 
> I will add more tags as the fic progresses.


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